[Transcriber's Notes: The letter "o" with a macron is indicated as [=o]in this text. The oe ligature has been replaced with the letters "oe". The original text had the word "Madame" written two ways: "Mad" followedby superscripted "me" and "Ma" followed by superscripted "dme". All havebeen rendered as Madme. ] [Illustration: _Robert Browning. _Rome 1854. _From an Oil Painting by W. Fisher. _] THE LETTERSOFELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING EDITED WITH BIOGRAPHICAL ADDITIONS BYFREDERIC G. KENYON _WITH PORTRAITS_ IN TWO VOLUMES VOLUME II. _THIRD EDITION_ LONDON SMITH, ELDER, & CO. , 15 WATERLOO PLACE1898 CONTENTSOFTHE SECOND VOLUME * * * * * CHAPTER VII 1851-1852 'Casa Guidi Windows'--Venice--Milan--Paris--London--Winter in Paris--TheCoup d'Etat--Louis Napoleon--Miss Mitford's 'Recollections'--GeorgeSand--Miss Mulock--Summer in England, 1 CHAPTER VIII 1852-1855 Return to Florence--Spiritualism--Robert Lytton--Bagni diLucca--Florence--Rome--Florence--The Crimean War--Death of MissMitford, 91 CHAPTER IX 1855-1859 Visit to England--Tennyson's 'Maud'--Winter in Paris--Mr. Ruskin--LastVisit to England--'Aurora Leigh'--Death of Mr. Kenyon--Return toFlorence--Carnival--Death of Mr. Barrett--Bagni di Lucca--Illness ofLytton--Paris--Havre--Paris--Florence--Rome, 205 CHAPTER X 1859-1860 The Franco-Austrian War--Napoleon andItaly--Villafranca--Florence--Siena--Italian Politics andEngland--Landor--Florence--Rome, 305 CHAPTER XI 1860-1861 'Poems before Congress'--Napoleon and Savoy--France, Italy, andEngland--Florence--Death of Mrs. Surtees Cook--Garibaldi--Rome--The'Cornhill Magazine' and Thackeray--Increasing Weakness--Death of Mrs. Browning, 363 INDEX, 455 PORTRAIT OF ROBERT BROWNING, ROME 1854, _Frontispiece_ FACSIMILE OF LETTER TO THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON, _to face p. 262_ THE LETTERS OF ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING * * * * * CHAPTER VII 1851-1852 Since they first settled in Florence the Brownings had made no long ordistant expeditions from their new home. Their summer excursions toVallombrosa, Lucca, or Siena had been of the nature of short holidays, and had not taken them beyond the limits of Tuscany. Now they hadplanned a far wider series of travels, which, beginning with Rome, Naples, Venice, and Milan, should then be extended across the Alps, andcomprehend Brussels, Paris, and ultimately London. This ambitiousprogramme had to be curtailed by the omission of the southern tour toRome and Naples, as well as the digression to Brussels, but the rest ofthe scheme was carried out, and about the beginning of June they leftCasa Guidi for an absence which extended over seventeen months. The holiday had been well earned, especially by Mrs. Browning, who, since the preparation of the new edition of her poems in the previousyear, had been writing the second part of 'Casa Guidi Windows. ' It isprobably to this poem that she refers in the letter to Miss Browningprinted at the end of the last chapter, Miss Browning having on morethan one occasion helped both her brother and her sister-in-law in thetask of passing their poems through the press. The book appeared inJune, just as they were starting on their travels, and probably for thisreason we hear less in the letters of its reception. It was hardly to beexpected that the English public would take a very keen interest in apoem dealing almost entirely with Italian politics, and half of it withthe politics of three years ago. Either in 1849 or in 1859 the interestwould have been livelier; but Italy was passing now through the valleyof the shadow, and, save for the horrors of the Neapolitan prisons, wasnot much before the public for the moment. The intrigues of LouisNapoleon and the ostentatious aggression of the Pope in England were thematters of most interest in foreign politics, and both were overshadowedby the absorbing topic of the Great Exhibition. Another reason why 'Casa Guidi Windows' has received less appreciationthan it deserves, both at the time of its publication and since, is thatit stands rather apart from all the recognised species of poetry, and ishard to classify and criticise. Its political and contemporary charactercut it off from the imaginative and historical subjects which form ingeneral the matter of poetry, while its genuinely poetic emotion andlanguage separate it from the political pamphlet or the occasionalverse. It is a poetic treatment of a political subject raised to a highlevel by the genuine enthusiasm and fire with which it is inspired, andthese give it a value which lasts far beyond the moment of the eventswhich gave it birth. The execution, too, shows an advance on most ofMrs. Browning's previous work. The dangerous experiments in rhymingwhich characterised many of the poems in the volumes of 1844 areabandoned; the licences of language are less frequent; the verse runssmoothly and is more uniformly under command. It would appear as if theheat of inspiration which produced the 'Sonnets from the Portuguese'had left a permanent and purifying effect upon her style. The poem hasbeen neglected by those who take little interest in Italy and itshistory, and adversely criticised by those who do not sympathise withits political and religious opinions; but with those who look only toits poetry and to its warm-hearted championship of a great cause, itwill always hold a high place of its own among Mrs. Browning's writings. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ Florence: May 1, [1851]. I am writing to you, dearest Miss Blagden, at last, you see; though youmust have excommunicated me before now as the most ungrateful ofcorrespondents and friends. Do forgive what you can--and your kindnessis so great that I believe you can, and shall go on to write as if youdid. We have been in the extremity of confusion and indecision. Rememberhow the fairy princes used to do when they arrived at the meeting ofthree roads, and had to consider what choice to make. How they used toshake their heads and ponder, and end sometimes by drawing lots! Much inthe like perplexity have we been. Everything was ready for Rome--the dayfixed, the packing begun, the vettura bargained for. Suddenly, visionsof obstacles rose up. We were late in the season. We should be late forthe festas. May would be hot in Rome for Wiedeman. Then two journeys, north and south, to Rome and Naples, besides Paris and England, pulledfearfully at the purse-strings. Plainly we couldn't afford it. Soeverything was stopped and changed. We gave up Rome and you, and are nowactually on the point of setting out for Venice; Venice is to console usfor Rome. We go to-morrow, indeed. The plan is to stay a fortnight atVenice (or more or less, as the charm works), and then to strike acrossto Milan; across the Splügen into Switzerland, and to linger there amongthe hills and lakes for a part of the summer, so working out anintention of economy; then down the Rhine; then by railroad to Brussels;so to Paris, settling there; after which we pay our visit to England fora few weeks. Early next spring we mean to go to Rome and return here, either _for good_ (which is very possible) or for the purpose ofarranging our house affairs and packing up books and furniture. As itis, we have our apartment for another year, and shall let it if we can. It has been painted, cleaned, and improved in all ways, till my head andRobert's ring again with the confusion of it all. Oh that we were gone, since we are to go! When out of sight of Florence, we shall begin toenjoy, I hope, the sight of other things, but as it is the impression isonly painful and dizzying. Our friends Mr. And Mrs. Ogilvy go with us asfar as Venice, and then leave us on a direct course for England, havingcommitted their children and nurses to the care of her sister at theBaths of Lucca meantime. We take with us only Wilson. Do write to me at Venice, Poste Restante, that I may know you arethinking of me and excusing me kindly. If you knew how uncertain andtormented we have been. I won't even ask Robert to add a line to this, he is so overwhelmed with a flood of businesses; but he bids me speak toyou of him as affectionately and faithfully (because affectionately) asI have reason to do. So kind it was in you to think of taking thetrouble of finding us an apartment! So really sensible we are to allyour warm-hearted goodness, with fullness of heart on our side too. And, after all, we are not parting! Either we shall find you in Italy again, or you will find us in Paris. I have a presentimental assurance offinding one another again before long. Remember us and love us meantime. As to your spiritual visitor--why, it would be hard to make out a systemof Romish doctrine from the most Romish version of the S. S. [1] Thedifferences between the Protestant version and the Papistical are notcertainly justifiable by the Greek original, on the side of the latter. In fact, the Papistical version does not pretend to follow the Greektext, but a Latin translation of the same--it's a translation from atranslation. Granting it, however, to be faithful, I must repeat that tomake out the Romish system from even _such_ a Romish version could notbe achieved. So little does Scripture (however represented) seem to meto justify that system of ecclesiastical doctrine and discipline. Ianswer your question because you bid me, but I am not a bit frightenedat the idea of your becoming a R. C. , however you may try to frighten me. You have too much intelligence and uprightness of intellect. We do hopeyou have enjoyed Rome, and that dearest Miss Agassiz (give our kind loveto her) is better and looks better than we all thought her a littlewhile ago. I have a book coming out in England called 'Casa GuidiWindows, ' which will prevent everybody else (except you) from speakingto me again. Do love me always, as I shall you. Forgive me, and _don't_forget me. I shall try, after a space of calm, to behave better to you, and more after my _heart_--for I am ever (as Robert is) Your faithfully affectionate friend, ELIZABETH B. BROWNING. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ Venice: June 4, [1851]. My ever dearest Miss Mitford, --I must write to you from Venice, thoughit can only be a few lines. So much I have to say and _feel_ in writingto you, and thinking that you were not well when you wrote last to me, Ilong to hear from you--and yet I can't tell you to-day where a letterwill find me. We are wanderers on the face of the world just now, andwith every desire of going straight from Venice to Milan to-morrow(Friday) week, we shall more probably, at the Baths of Recoaro, belingering and lingering. Therefore will you write to the care of MissBrowning, New Cross, Hatcham, near London? for so I shall not lose yourletter. I have been between heaven and earth since our arrival atVenice. The heaven of it is ineffable. Never had I touched the skirts ofso celestial a place. The beauty of the architecture, the silver trailsof water up between all that gorgeous colour and carving, the enchantingsilence, the moonlight, the music, the gondolas--I mix it all uptogether, and maintain that nothing is like it, nothing equal to it, nota second Venice in the world. Do you know, when I came first I felt asif I never could go away. But now comes the earth side. Robert, aftersharing the ecstasy, grows uncomfortable, and nervous, and unable to eator sleep; and poor Wilson, still worse, in a miserable condition ofcontinual sickness and headache. Alas for these mortal Venices--soexquisite and so bilious! Therefore I am constrained away from my joysby sympathy, and am forced to be glad that we are going off on Friday. For myself, it does not affect me at all. I like these moist, soft, relaxing climates; even the scirocco doesn't touch me much. And the babygrows gloriously fatter in spite of everything. No, indeed and indeed, we are not going to England for the sake of theExposition. How could you fancy such a thing, even once. In any case weshall not reach London till late, and if by any arrangement I could seemy sister Arabel in France or on the coast of England, we would persuadeRobert's family to meet us there, and not see London at all. Ah, if youknew how abhorrent the thought of England is to _me_! Well, we must nottalk of it. My eyes shut suddenly when my thoughts go that way. Tell me exactly how you are. I heartily rejoice that you have decidedat last about the other house, so as to avoid the danger of anotherautumn and winter in the damp. Do you write still for Mr. Chorley'speriodical, and how does it go on? Here in Italy the fame of it does notpenetrate. As for Venice, you can't get even a 'Times, ' much less an'Athenæum. ' We comfort ourselves by taking a box at the opera (the wholebox on the ground tier, mind) for two shillings and eightpence English. Also, every evening at half-past eight, Robert and I are sitting underthe moon in the great piazza of St. Mark, taking excellent coffee andreading the French papers. Can you fancy me so? You will receive a copy of my new poem, 'Casa Guidi Windows, ' soon afterthis note. I have asked Sarianna Browning to see that you receive itsafely. I don't give away copies (having none to give away, according tobooksellers' terms), but I can't let you receive my little book fromanother hand than the writer's. Tell me how you like the poem--honestly, truly--which numbers of people will be sure to dislike profoundly andangrily, perhaps. We think of going to Recoaro because Mr. Chorleypraised it to us years ago. Tell him so if you write. Here are a heap of words tossed down upon paper. I can't put the stopseven. Do write _about yourself_, not waiting for the book. Your ever attachedE. B. B. At Paris how near we shall be! How sure to meet. Have you been to theExposition yourself? Tell me. And what is the general feeling _now_? * * * * * _To John Kenyon_ Paris: July 7, [1851]. My dearest Mr. Kenyon, --I have waited day after day during this weekthat we have been here, to be able to tell you that we have decided thisor that--but the indecision lasts, and I can't let you hear from othersof our being in Paris when you have a right more than anybody almost tohear all about us. I wanted to write to you, indeed, from Venice, wherewe stayed a month, and much the same reason made me leave it undone, aswe were making and unmaking plans the whole time, and we didn't knowtill the last few hours, for instance, whether or not we should go toMilan. Venice is quite exquisite; it wrapt me round with a spell atfirst sight, and I longed to live and die there--never to go away. Thegondolas, and the glory they swim through, and the silence of thepopulation, drifted over one's head across the bridges, and thefantastic architecture and the coffee-drinking and music in the PiazzaSan Marco, everything fitted into my lazy, idle nature and weakness ofbody, as if I had been born to the manner of it and to no other. Do youknow I expected in Venice a dreary sort of desolation? Whereas there wasnothing melancholy at all, only a soothing, lulling, rocking atmospherewhich if Armida had lived in a city rather than in a garden would havesuited her purpose. Indeed Taglioni seems to be resting her feet fromdancing, there, with a peculiar zest, inasmuch as she has bought threeor four of the most beautiful palaces. How could she do better? And oneor two ex-kings and queens (of the more vulgar royalties) have wraptthemselves round with those shining waters to forget the purple--ordream of it, as the case may be. Robert and I led a true Venetian life, I assure you; we 'swam in gondolas' to the Lido and everywhere else, wewent to a festa at Chioggia in the steamer (frightening Wilson by beingkept out by the wind till two o'clock in the morning), we went to theopera and the play (at a shilling each, or not as much!), and we tookcoffee every evening on St. Mark's Piazza, to music and the stars. Altogether it would have been perfect, only what's perfect in the world?While I grew fat, Wilson grew thin, and Robert could not sleep atnights. The air was too relaxing or soft or something for them both, andpoor Wilson declares that another month of Venice would have killed heroutright. Certainly she looked dreadfully ill and could eat nothing. SoI was forced to be glad to go away, out of pure humanity and sympathy, though I keep saying softly to myself ever since, 'What is there onearth like Venice?' Then, we slept at Padua on St. Anthony's night (more's the pity for us:they made us pay sixteen zwanzigers for it!), and Robert and I, leavingWiedeman at the inn, took a calèche and drove over to Arqua, which I hadset my heart on seeing for Petrarch's sake. Did you ever see it, _you_?And didn't it move you, the sight of that little room where the greatsoul exhaled itself? Even Robert's man's eyes had tears in them as westood there, and looked through the window at the green-peaked hills. And, do you know, I believe in 'the cat. ' Through Brescia we passed by moonlight (such a flood of white moonlight)and got into Milan in the morning. There we stayed two days, and Iclimbed to the topmost pinnacle of the cathedral; wonder at me! Indeed Iwas rather overtired, it must be confessed--three hundred and fiftysteps--but the sight was worth everything, enough to light up one'smemory for ever. How glorious that cathedral is! worthy almost ofstanding face to face with the snow Alps; and itself a sort of snowdream by an artist architect, taken asleep in a glacier! Then the DaVinci Christ did not disappoint us, which is saying much. It is divine. And the Lombard school generally was delightful after Bologna and thosesoulless Caracci! I have even given up Guido, and Guercino too, sinceknowing more of them. Correggio, on the other hand, is sublime at Parma;he is wonderful! besides having the sense to make his little Christs andangels after the very likeness of my baby. From Milan we moved to Como, steamed down to Menaggio (opposite toBellaggio), took a calèche to Porlezza, and a boat to Lugano, anothercalèche to Bellinzona, left Wiedeman there, and, returning on our steps, steamed down and up again the Lago Maggiore, went from Bellinzona toFaido and slept, and crossed the Mount St. Gothard the next day, catching the Lucerne steamer at Fluellen. The scenery everywhere wasmost exquisite, but of the great _pass_ I shall say nothing--it was likestanding in the presence of God when He is terrible. The tearsoverflowed my eyes. I think I never _saw_ the sublime before. Do youknow I sate out in the coupé a part of the way with Robert so as toapprehend the whole sight better, with a thick shawl over my head, onlyletting out the eyes to see. They told us there was more snow than iscustomary at this time of year, and it well might be so, for the passagethrough it, cut for the carriage, left the snow-walls nodding over us ata great height on each side, and the cold was intense. Do you know we might yield the palm, and that Lucerne is far finer thanany of our Italian lakes? Even Robert had to confess it at once. Iwanted to stay in Switzerland, but we found it wiser to hasten our stepsand come to Paris; so we came. Yes, and we travelled from Strasburg toParis in four-and-twenty hours, night and day, never stopping except fora quarter of an hour's breakfast and half an hour's dinner. So afraid Iwas of the fatigue for Wiedeman! But between the unfinished railroad andthe diligence, there's a complication of risks of losing places justnow, and we were forced to go the whole way in a breath or to hazardbeing three or four days on the road. So we took the coupé and resignedourselves, and poor little babe slept at night and laughed in the day, and came into Paris as fresh in spirit as if just alighted from themorning star, screaming out with delight at the shops! Think of thatchild! Upon the whole he has enjoyed our journey as much as any one ofus, observing and admiring; though Robert and Wilson will have it thatsome of his admiration of the _scenery_ we passed through was pureaffectation and acted out to copy ours. He cried out, clasping hishands, that the mountains were 'due'--meaning a great number. His loveof beautiful buildings, of churches especially, no one can doubt about. When first he saw St. Mark's, he threw up his arms in wonder, and then, clasping them round Wilson's neck (she was carrying him), he kissed herin an ecstasy of joy. And that was after a long day's journey, when mostother children would have been tired and fretful. But the sense of thebeautiful is certainly very strong in him, little darling. He can't saythe word 'church' yet, but when he sees one he begins to chant. Oh, he'sa true Florentine in some things. Well, now we are in Paris and have to forget the 'belle chiese;' we havebeautiful shops instead, false teeth grinning at the corners of thestreets, and disreputable prints, and fascinating hats and caps, andbrilliant restaurants, and M. Le Président in a cocked hat and with atrain of cavalry, passing like a rocket along the boulevards to anoccasional yell from the Red. Oh yes, and don't mistake me! for I likeit all extremely, it's a splendid city--a city in the country, as Veniceis a city in the sea. And I'm as much amused as Wiedeman, who stands inthe street before the printshops (to Wilson's great discomfort) androars at the lions. And I admire the bright green trees and gardenseverywhere in the heart of the town. Surely it is a most beautiful city!And I like the restaurants more than is reasonable; dining _à la carte_, and mixing up one's dinner with heaps of newspapers, and the 'solution'by Emile de Girardin, who suggests that the next President should be atailor. Moreover, we find apartments very cheap in comparison to what wefeared, and we are in a comfortable quiet hotel, where it is possible, and not ruinous, to wait and look about one. As to England--oh England--how I dread to think of it. We talk of goingover for a short time, but have not decided when; yet it will be soonperhaps--it may. If it were not for my precious Arabel, I would not go;because Robert's family would come to him here, they say. But to give upArabel is impossible. Henrietta is in Somersetshire; it is uncertainwhether I shall see her, even in going, and she too might come to Paristhis winter. And you will come--you promised, I think?... I feel here _near enough_ to England, that's the truth. I recoil fromthe bitterness of being nearer. Still, it must be thought of. Dearest cousin, dearest friend, in all this pleasant journey we haveborne you in mind, and gratefully! You must feel _that_ without beingtold. I won't quite do like my Wiedeman, who every time he fires his gun(if it's twenty times in five minutes) says, 'Papa, papa, ' becauseRobert gave him the gun, and the gratitude is as re-iterantly and loudlyexplosive. But one's thoughts may say what they please and as often asthey please. Arabel tells me that you are kind to the manner of my poem, though tothe matter obdurate. Miss Mitford, too, says that it won't receive thesympathy proper to a home subject, because the English people don't careanything for the Italians now; despising them for their want oforiginality in _Art_! That's very good of the English people, really! Ifear much that dear Miss Mitford has suffered seriously from the effectsof the damp house last winter. What she says of herself makes me anxiousabout her. Give my true love to dear Miss Bayley, and say how I repent in ashes fornot having written to her. But she is large-hearted and will forgive me, and I shall make amends and send her sheet upon sheet. Barry Cornwall'sletter to Robert, of course, delighted as well as honoured me. Does itappear in the new edition of his 'songs' &c. ? Mind, if ever I go to England I shall have no heart to go out of a verydark corner. I shall just see you and that's all. It's only Robert whois a patriot now, of us two. England, what with the past and thepresent, is a place of bitterness to me, bitter enough to turn all herseas round to wormwood! Airs and hearts, all are against me in England;yet don't let me be ungrateful. No love is forgotten or less prized, certainly not yours. Only I'm a citizeness of the world now, you see, and float loose. God bless you, dearest Mr. Kenyon, prays Your ever affectionateBA. Robert's best love as always. He writes by this post to Mr. Procter. Howbeautifully Sarianna has corrected for the press my new poem!Wonderfully well, really. There is only one error of consequence, whichI will ask you to correct in any copy you can--of 'rail' _in the lastline_, to 'vail;' the allusion being of course to the Jewish temple--butas it is printed nobody can catch any meaning, I fear. They tell me thatthe Puseyite organ, the 'Guardian, ' has been strong in attack. So best. * * * * * After a few weeks in Paris the travellers crossed over to England, whichthey had not seen for nearly five years. Their visit to London lastedabout two months, from the end of July to the end of September, duringwhich time they stayed in lodgings at 26 Devonshire Street. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ 26 Devonshire Street: Wednesday, [about August 1851]. My ever dearest Mrs. Martin, --I am not ungrateful after all, but Iwanted to write a long letter to you (having much to say), and even nowit is hard in this confusion to write a short one. We have beenoverwhelmed with kindnesses, crushed with gifts, like the Roman lady;and literally to drink through a cup of tea from beginning to endwithout an interruption from the door-bell, we have scarcely attained tosince we came. For my part I refuse all dinner invitations except whenour dear friend Mr. Kenyon 'imposes himself as an exception, ' in hisown words. But even in keeping the resolution there are necessaryfatigues; and, do you know, I have not been well since our arrival inEngland. My first step ashore was into a puddle and a fog, and I beganto cough before we reached London. The quality of the air does _not_agree with me, that's evident. For nearly five years I have had no suchcough nor difficulty of breathing, and my friends, who at first sightthought me looking well, must forbear all compliments for the future, Ithink, I get so much paler every day. Next week we send Wilson to seeher mother near Sheffield and _the baby with her_, which is a greatstroke of fortitude in me; only what I can't bear is to see him cryingbecause she is gone away. So we resolve on letting them both gotogether. When she returns, ten days or a fortnight after, we shall haveto think of going to Paris again; indeed Robert begins to be nervousabout me--which is nonsense, but natural enough perhaps. In regard to Colwall, you are both, my very dear friends, the kindestthat you can be. Ah, but dearest, dearest Mrs. Martin, you can_understand_, with the same kindness that you use to me in other things. There is only one event in my life which never loses its bitterness;which comes back on me like a retreating wave, going and coming again, which was and _is my grief--I never had but one brother who loved andcomprehended me_. And so there is just one thought which would beunbearable if I went into your neighbourhood; and you won't set it down, I am sure, as unpardonable weakness, much less as affectation, if Iconfess to you that I _never could bear it_. The past would be toostrong for me. As to Hope End, it is nothing. I have been happier in myown home since, than I was there and then. But Torquay has made theneighbourhood of Hope End impossible to me. I could not eat or sleep inthat air. You will forgive me for the weakness, I am certain. You know alittle, if not entirely, how we loved one another; how I was first with_him_, and _he_ with me; while God knows that death and separation haveno power over such love. After all, we shall see you in Paris if not in England. We pass thiswinter in Paris, in the hope of my being able to bear the climate, forindeed Italy is too far. And if the winter does not disagree with me toomuch we mean to take a house and settle in Paris, so as to be close toyou all, and that will be a great joy to me. You will pass through Paristhis autumn (won't you?) on your way to Pau, and I shall see you. I dolong to see you and make you know my husband.... So far from regretting my marriage, it has made the happiness and honourof my life; and every unkindness received from my own house makes mepress nearer to the tenderest and noblest of human hearts _proved_ bythe uninterrupted devotion of nearly five years. Husband, lover, nurse--not one of these, has Robert been to me, but all three together. I neither regret my marriage, therefore, nor the manner of it, becausethe manner of it was a necessity of the act. I thought so at the time, Ithink so now; and I believe that the world in general will decide (ifthe world is to be really appealed to) that my opinion upon this subject(after five years) is worth more. Dearest Mrs. Martin, do write to me. I keep my thoughts as far as I canfrom bitter things, and the affectionateness of my dearest sisters isindeed much on the other side. Also, we are both giddy with the kindattentions pressed on us from every side, from some of the best inEngland. It's hard to think at all in such a confusion. We met Tennyson(the Laureate) by a chance in Paris, who insisted that we should takepossession of his house and servants at Twickenham and use them as longas we liked to stay in England. Nothing could be more warmly kind, andwe accepted the note in which he gave us the right of possession for thesake of the generous autograph, though we never intended in our ownminds to act out the proposition. Since then, Mr. Arnould, the Chancerybarrister, has begged us to go and live in his town house (we don't wanthouses, you see); Mrs. Fanny Kemble called on and left us tickets forher Shakespeare reading (by the way, I was charmed with her 'Hamlet');Mr. Forster, of the 'Examiner, ' gave us a magnificent dinner at ThamesDitton in sight of the swans; and we breakfast on Saturday with Mr. Rogers. Then we have seen the Literary Guild actors at the HanoverSquare rooms, and we have passed an evening with Carlyle (one of thegreat sights in England, to my mind). He is a very warm friend ofRobert's, so that on every account I was delighted to see him face toface. I can't tell you what else we have done or not done. It's a greatdazzling heap of things new and strange. Barry Cornwall (Mr. Procter)came to see us every day till business swept him out of town, and dearMrs. Jameson left her Madonna for us in despite of the printers. Suchkindness, on all sides. Ah, there's kindness in England after all. Yet Igrew cold to the heart as I set foot on the ground of it, and wishedmyself away. Also, the sort of life is not perhaps the best for me andthe sort of climate is really the worst. You heard of Mr. Kenyon's goodness to us; I told Arabel to tell you. But I must end here. Another time I will talk of Paris, which I do hopewill suit us as a residence. I was quite well there, the three weeks westayed, and am far from well just now. You see, the weight of theatmosphere, which seems to me like lead, combined with the excitement, is too much at once. Oh, it won't be very bad, I dare say. I mean to tryto be quiet, and abjure for the future the night air. I should not omit to tell you in this quantity of egotism that myhusband's father and sister have received me most affectionately. She ishighly accomplished, with a heart to suit the head. Now do write. Let me hear all about you, and how dear Mr. Martin andyourself are. Robert's cordial regards with those of Your ever affectionate and ever gratefulBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ 26 Devonshire Street: Saturday, [about August 1851]. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --Day by day, and hour by hour almost, I havewanted to thank you again and again for your remedy (which I did notuse, by the bye, being much better), and to answer your inquiry aboutme, which really I could not deliver over to Arabel to answer; but thebaby did not go to the country with Wilson, and I have been 'devoted'since she went away; _une âme perdue_, with not an instant out of thefour-and-twenty hours to call my own. It appeared, at the last, thatWilson would have a drawback to her enjoyments in having the child, andI did not choose that: she had only a fortnight, you see, after fiveyears, to be with her family. So I took her place with him; it wasnecessary, for he was in a state of deplorable grief when he missed her, and has refused ever since to allow any human being except me to do asingle thing for him. I hold him in my arms at night, dress and wash himin the morning, walk out with him, and am not allowed either to read orwrite above three minutes at a time. He has learnt to say in English 'Nomore, ' and I am bound to be obedient. Perhaps I may make out fiveminutes just to write this, for he is playing in the passage with achild of the house, but even so much is doubtful. He has made very goodfriends with a girl here, and Arabel has sent her maid ever so often totempt him away for half an hour, so as to give me breathing time, but hewon't be tempted: he has it in his head that the world is in aconspiracy against him to take 'mama' away after having taken 'Lily, 'and he is bound to resist it. After all, the place of nursery maid is more suitable to me than that ofpoetess (or even poet's wife) in this obstreperous London. I was nearlykilled the first weeks, what with the climate, and what with thekindness (and what with the want of kindness), and looked wretchedly, whether Reynolds Peyton saw it or not, and coughed day and night, tillRobert took fright, and actually fixed a day for taking me forthwithback to Paris. I had to give up a breakfast at Rogers', and shut myselfup in two rooms for a week, and refuse, like Wiedeman, to be tempted outanywhere, but, after that, I grew better, and the wind changed, and nowthe cough, though not gone, is quieted, and I look a different person, and have ceased to grow thin. But a racketing life will never do for me, nor an English atmosphere, I am much afraid. The lungs seem to labour inthis heavy air. Oh, it is so unlike the air of the Continent; I saynothing of Florence, but even of Paris, where I do wish to be able tolive, on account of the nearness to this dear detestable England. Now let me tell you of Wimpole Street. Henry has been very kind incoming not infrequently; he has a kind, good heart. Occy, too, I haveseen three or four times, Alfred and Sette once. My dearest Arabel is, of course, here once if not twice a day, and for hours at a time, bringing me great joy always, and Henrietta's dear kindness in coming toLondon on purpose to see me, for a week, has left a perfume in my life. Both those beloved sisters have been, as ever, perfect to me. Arabel isvexed just now, and so am I, my brothers having fixed with papa to goout of town directly, and she caring more to stay where I am.... I have not written to papa since our arrival through my fear ofinvolving Arabel; but as soon as they go to the country I shall_hopelessly_ write. He is very well and in good spirits, thank God. We have spent two days at New Cross with my husband's father and sister, and she has been here constantly. Most affectionate they are to me, andthe babe is taken into adoration by Mr. Browning. But here he is upon me again! Indeed, I have had wonderful luck inhaving been able to write all this; and now, God bless both of you, mydearest friends. Oh, I do feel to my heart all your kindness in wishingto have us with you, and, indeed, Robert _would_ like to seeHerefordshire, but-- [_The remainder of this letter is wanting_] * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ 26 Devonshire Street: Wednesday, [September 1851]. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --I write in haste to you to tell you some thingswhich you should hear without delay. After Robert's letter to George had been sent three times to Wales andbeen returned twice, it reached him, and immediately upon its reachinghim (to do George justice) he wrote a kind reply to apprise us that hewould be at our door the same evening. So the night before last he came, and we are all good friends, thank God. I tenderly love him and therest, and must for ever deplore that such poor barriers as a pedanticpride can set up should have interposed between long and strong and holyaffections for years. But it is past, and I have been very happy inbeing held in his arms again, and seen in his eyes that I was stillsomething more to him than a stone thrown away. So, if you have thoughtseverely of him, you and dear Mr. Martin, do not any longer. Preserveyour friendship for him, my dearest friends, and let all this foolishmistaken past be well past and forgotten. I think him looking thin, though it does not strike them so in Wimpole Street, certainly. For the rest, the pleasantness is not on every side. It seemed to meright, notwithstanding that dear Mr. Kenyon advised against it, toapprise my father of my being in England. I could not leave Englandwithout trying the possibility of his seeing me once, of his consentingto kiss my child once. So I wrote, and Robert wrote. A manly, true, straightforward letter his was, yet in some parts so touching to me andso generous and conciliating everywhere, that I could scarcely believein the probability of its being read in vain. In reply he had a veryviolent and unsparing letter, with all the letters I had written to papathrough these five years _sent back unopened, the seals unbroken_. Whatwent most to my heart was that some of the seals were black withblack-edged envelopes; so that he might have thought my child or husbanddead, yet never cared to solve the doubt by breaking the seal. He saidhe regretted to have been forced to keep them by him until now, throughhis ignorance of where he should send them. So there's the end. Icannot, of course, write again. God takes it all into His own hands, andI wait. We go on Tuesday. If I do not see you (as I scarcely hope to do now), itwill be only a gladness delayed for a few months. We shall meet in Parisif we live. May God bless you both, dearest friends! I think of you andlove you. Dear Mr. Martin, don't stay too late in England this year, forthe climate seems to me worse than ever. Not that I have much coughnow--I am much better--but the quality of the atmosphere is unmistakableto my lungs and air passages, and I believe it will be wise, on thisaccount, to go away quickly. Your ever affectionate and gratefulBA. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_[2] London: September 24, 1851. My dear Miss Haworth, --I do hope you have not set us quite on theoutside of your heart with the unfeeling and ungrateful. I say 'us' whenI ought to have said 'me, ' for you have known Robert, and you have notknown _me_, and I am naturally less safe with you than he is--less safein your esteem. We should both have gone to inquire after your health ifhe had not been attacked with influenza, and unfit for anything untilthe days you mentioned as the probable term of your remaining in townhad passed. I waited till he should be better, and the malady lingered. Now he is well, and I do hope you may be so too. May it be! Bear us inmind and love, for we go away to-morrow to Paris--where, however, weshall _expect_ you before long. Thank you, thank you, for the books. Ihave been struck and charmed with some things in the'Companion'--especially, may I say, with the 'Modern Pygmalion, ' whichcatches me on my weak side of the _love of wonder_. By the way, what amI to say of Swedenborg and mesmerism? So much I could--the books have sodrawn and held me (as far as I was capable of being drawn or held, inthis chaos of London)--that I will not speak at all. The note-page istoo small--the haste I write in, too great. God bless you, and good bye. Robert bids me give you his love (of theearnestest), and I have leave from you (have I not?) to be alwaysaffectionately yours, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. * * * * * The journey to Paris was effected at the end of September, and for aboutnine months they pitched their tent at No. 138 Avenue desChamps-Elysées. It was a fortunate time to be in Paris for those who hadno personal nervousness, and liked to be near the scene of greatevents--a most anxious time for any who were alarmed at disturbances, ortook keenly to heart the horrors of street fighting. Fortunately for theBrownings, they, whether by temperament or through their Italianexperiences, were not unduly disturbed at revolutions, while the horrorsof Louis Napoleon's _coup d'état_ were, no doubt, only partly known toMrs. Browning at the time, and were palliated to her by the view shetook of Napoleon's character. She had not, it is true, raised him as yetto the pinnacle on which his intervention on behalf of Italysubsequently caused her to place him, but (perhaps owing to what Mr. Kenyon called her 'immoral sympathy with power') she was always disposedto put a favourable construction on his actions, and the _coup d'état_was finally whitewashed for her by the approbation which the_plébiscite_ of December 20 gave to his assumption of supreme power. Herviews are, however, so fully set forth in her own letters that they neednot be detailed here. For her husband's opinion of the character ofLouis Napoleon, at least as it appeared to him when looking back afterthe lapse of years, it is only necessary to refer to 'PrinceHohenstiel-Schwangau. ' * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ [Paris, ] 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:October 21, [1851]. But didn't you, dearest friend, get 'Casa Guidi' and the portrait ofMadme de Goethe, left for you in the London house? I felt a _want_ ofleaving a word of adieu with these, and then the chaotic confusion inwhich we left England stifled the better purpose out of me. With such mixed feelings I went away. Leaving love behind is alwaysterrible, but it was not all love that I left, and there was relief inthe state of mind with which I threw myself on the sofa at Dieppe--yes, indeed. Robert felt differently from me for once, as was natural, for ithad been pure joy to him with his family and his friends, and I dobelieve he would have been capable of never leaving England again, hadsuch an arrangement been practicable for us on some accounts. OhEngland! I love and hate it at once. Or rather, where love of countryought to be in the heart, there is the mark of the burning iron in mine, and the depth of the scar shows the depth of the root of it. Well, I amwriting you an amusing letter to-day, I think. After all, I wasn't madeto live in England, or I should not cough there perpetually; while nosooner do I get to Paris than the cough vanishes--it is all but gonenow. The lightness of the air here makes the place tenable--so far, atleast. We made many an effort to get an apartment near the Madeleine, but we had to sacrifice sun or money, or breath, in going up to the topof a house, and the sacrifice seemed too great upon consideration, andwe came off to the 'Avenue des Champs-Elysées, ' on the sunshiny side ofthe way, to a southern aspect, and pretty cheerful carpeted rooms--adrawing room, a dressing and writing room for Robert, a small diningroom, two comfortable bedrooms and a third bedroom upstairs for the_femme de service_, kitchen, &c. , for two hundred francs a month. Nottoo dear, we think. About the same that we paid, out of the season, inLondon for the miserable accommodation we had there. But perhaps youwon't come near us now; we may be too much 'out of the way' for you. Isit so indeed? Understand that close by us is a stand of _coupés_ and_fiacres_, not to profane your ears with the mention of the continualstream of omnibuses by means of which you may reach the other end ofParis for six sous. And there might be a possibility of taking a smallapartment for you in this very house. See how I castle-build. But if the Crystal Palace vanishes from the face of the earth, who shalltrust any more in castles? Will they really pull it down, do you think?If it's a bubble, it's a glass bubble, and not meant, therefore, forbursting in the air, it seems to me. And you do want a place in Englandfor sculpture, and also to show people how olives grow. What a beautifulwinter garden it would be! But they will pull it down, perhaps; andthen, the last we shall have seen of it will be in this description ofyour letter, and _that's_ seeing it worthily, too. We were from home last night; we went to Lady Elgin's reception, and meta Madame Mohl, who was entertaining, and is to come to us this morning-- She came as I wrote those words. She knows _you_, among her otheradvantages, and we have been talking of you, dear friend, and we aregoing to her on Friday evening to see some of the French. I shall haveto go to prison very soon, I suppose, as usual, for the winter months, for here is the twenty-first of October, though this is the first firewe have had occasion for. It was colder this morning, but we have hadexquisite weather, really, ever since we left England. The 'elf' is flourishing in all good fairyhood, with a scarlet rose leafon each cheek. Wilson says she never knew him to have such anirreproachable appetite. He is charmed with Paris, and its magnificentPunches, and roundabouts, and balloons--which last he says, looking upafter them gravely, 'go to God. ' The child has curious ideas abouttheology already. He is of opinion that God 'lives among the birds. ' Hehas taken to calling himself '_Peninni_, '[3] which sounds something likea fairy's name, though he means it for 'Wiedeman. ' Robert is in good spirits, and inclined to like Paris increasingly. Doyou know I think you have an idea in England that you monopolisecomforts, and I, for one, can't admit it. These snug 'apartments'exclude the draughty passages and staircases, which threaten your lifeevery time that you run to your bedroom for a pocket-handkerchief inEngland. I much prefer the Continental houses to the English ones, bothfor winter and summer, on this account. So glad I am that you are nearly at the end of your work. To rest afterwork, what more than rest that always is! Write to us often--do! We are not in Italy, and you have no excuse foreven _seeming_ to forget us. We are full in sight still, remember. Are you aware that Carlyle travelled with us to Paris? He left a deepimpression with me. It is difficult to conceive of a more interestinghuman soul, I think. All the bitterness is love with the point reversed. He seems to me to have a profound sensibility--so profound and turbulentthat it unsettles his general sympathies. Do you guess what I mean theleast in the world? or is it as dark as my writings are of course? I hope on every account you will have no increase of domestic care. Howis Miss Procter? How kind everybody was to us in England, and howaffectionately we remember it! God bless you yourself! We love you forthe past and the present, besides the future in December. Your attachedE. B. B. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ [Paris, ] 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:October 22, [1851]. The pause in writing has come from the confusion in living, my everdearest Miss Mitford, and no worse cause. It was a long while before wecould settle ourselves in a private apartment, and we had to stay at thehotel and wander about like doves turned out of the dove-cote, andseeking where to inhabit.... We have seen nothing in Paris, except theshell of it, yet. No theatres--nothing but business. Yet two eveningsago we hazarded going to a 'reception' at Lady Elgin's, in the FaubourgSt. Germain, and saw some French, but nobody of distinction. It is agood house, I believe, and she has an earnest face which must meansomething. We were invited, and _are_ invited to go every Monday, andthat Monday in particular, between eight and twelve. You go in a morningdress, and there is tea. Nothing can be more _sans façon_, and mytremors (for, do you know, I was quite nervous on the occasion, andcharged Robert to keep close to me) were perfectly unjustified by theevent. You see it was an untried form of society--like trying a Turkishbath. I expected to see Balzac's duchesses and _hommes de lettres_ onall sides of me, but there was nothing very noticeable, I think, thoughwe found it agreeable enough. We go on Friday evening to a MadameMohl's, where we are to have some of the 'celebrities, ' I believe, forshe seems to know everybody of all colours, from white to red. ThenMazzini is to give us a letter to George Sand--come what will, we musthave a letter to George Sand--and Robert has one to Emile Lorquet of the'National, ' and Gavarni of the 'Charivari, ' so that we shall manage tothrust our heads into this atmosphere of Parisian journalism, and learnby experience how it smells. I hear that George Sand is seldom at Parisnow. She has devoted herself to play-writing, and employs a houseful ofmen, her son's friends and her own, in acting privately with her whatshe writes--trying it on a home stage before she tries it at Paris. Herson is a very ordinary young man of three-and-twenty, but she is fond ofhim.... Never expect me to agree with you in that _cause célèbre_ of 'ladies andgentlemen' against people of letters. I don't like the sort of veneerwhich passes in society--yes, I like it, but I don't love it. I knowwhat the thing is worth as a matter of furniture-accomplishment, andthere an end. I should rather look at the scratched silent violin in thecorner, with the sense that music has come out of it or will come. I amgrateful to the man who has written a good book, and I recognisereverently that the roots of it are in him. And, do you know, I was notdisappointed at all in what I saw of writers of books in London; no, notat all. Carlyle, for instance, I liked infinitely more in hispersonality than I expected to like him, and I saw a great deal of him, for he travelled with us to Paris and spent several evenings with us, wethree together. He is one of the most interesting men I could imagineeven, deeply interesting to me; and you come to understand perfectly, when you know him, that his bitterness is only melancholy, and his scornsensibility. Highly picturesque too he is in conversation. The talk ofwriting men is very seldom as good. And, do you know, I was much taken, in London, with a young authoress, Geraldine Jewsbury. You have read her books. There's a French sort ofdaring, half-audacious power in them, but she herself is quiet andsimple, and drew my heart out of me a good deal. I felt inclined to loveher in our half-hour's intercourse. And I liked Lady Eastlake too inanother way, the 'lady' of the 'Letters from the Baltic, ' nay, I likedher better than the 'lady'.... Do write to me and tell me of your house, whether you are settling downin it comfortably[4]. In every new house there's a good deal of bird'swork in treading and shuffling down the loose sticks and straws, beforeone can feel it is to be a nest. Robert laughs at me sometimes forpushing about the chairs and tables in a sort of distracted way, butit's the very instinct of making a sympathetical home, that works in me. We were miserably off in London. I couldn't tuck myself in anyhow. Andwe enjoy in proportion these luxurious armchairs, so good for theLollards. People say that the troops which pass before our windows every few daysthrough the 'Arc de l'Étoile' to be reviewed will bring the Presidentback with them as 'emperor' some sunny morning not far off. As towaiting till _May_, nobody expects it. There is a great inwardagitation, but the surface of things is smooth enough. Be constant, beconstant! Constancy is a rare virtue even where it is not an undeniablepiece of wisdom. Vive Napoleon II. ! As to the book, ah, you are always, and have always been, too good to_me_, that's quite certain; and if you are not too good to my husband, it is only because I am persuaded in my secret soul nobody _can_ be toogood to him. He sends you his warm regards, and I send you a kiss of baby's, who isfinishing his Babylonish education, unfortunate child, by learning acomplement of French. I assure you he understands everything you can sayto him in English as well as Italian, so that he won't be utterlydenationalised. God bless you. Say how you are and write soon. Your ever affectionateE. B. B. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ [Paris, ] 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:November 12, 1851. I see your house, my beloved friend, and clap my hands for pleasure. Itwill suit you admirably, I see, plainly from Paris, and how right youare about the pretty garden, not to make it fine and modern; you havethe right instincts about such things, and are too strong for Mrs. Loudon and the landscape gardeners. The only defect apparent to me atthis distance is the size of the sitting room.... If you were to seewhat we call 'an apartment' in Paris! We have just a slip of a kitchen, and no passage, no staircase to take up the space, which is altogether_spent_ upon sitting and sleeping rooms. Talk of English comforts! It'sa national delusion. The comfort of the Continental way of life has onlyto be tested to be recognised (with the exception of the locks of doorsand windows, which are _barbaric_ here, there's no other word for it). The economy of a habitation is understood in Paris. You have theadvantages of a large house without the disadvantages, without thecoldness, without the dearness. And the beds, chairs, and sofas areperfect things. But the climate is not perfect, it seems, for we have had very coldweather the last ten days, and I am a prisoner as usual. Our friendsswear to us that it is exceptional weather and that it will be warmerpresently, and I listen with a sort of 'doubtful doubt' worthy of ametaphysician. It is some comfort to hear that it's below zero in Londonmeanwhile, and that Scotland stands eight feet deep in snow. We have a letter for George Sand (directed _à Madame George Sand_) fromMazzini, and we hear that she is to be in Paris within twelve days. Thenwe must make a rush and present it, for her stay here is not likely tobe long, and I would not miss seeing her for a great deal, though I havenot read one of her late dramas, and only by faith understand that herwonderful genius has conquered new kingdoms. Her last romance, 'LeChâteau des Déserts, ' is treated disdainfully in the 'Athenæum. ' I havenot read _that_ even, but Mr. Chorley is apt to be cold towards Frenchwriters and I don't expect his judgment as final therefore. Have youseen M. De la Mare's correspondence with Mirabeau? And do you ever catchsight of the 'Revue des Deux Mondes'? In the August number is anexcellent and most pleasant article on my husband, elaborately writtenand so highly appreciatory as well nigh to satisfy _me_. [5] 'Set youdown this' that there has sprung up in France lately an ardentadmiration of the present English schools of poetry, or rather of thepoetry produced by the present English schools, which they consider _anadvance upon the poetry of the ages_. Think of _this_, you Englishreaders who are still wearing broad hems and bombazeens for the Byronand Scott glorious days! Let me think what I can tell you of the President. I have never seen hisface, though he has driven past me in the boulevards, and past thesewindows constantly, but it is said that he is very like hisportraits--and, yes, rumour and the gazettes speak of his riding well. Wilson and Wiedeman had an excellent view of him the other day as heturned into a courtyard to pay some visit, and she tells me that hiscarriage was half full of petitions and nosegays thrown through thewindows. What a fourth act of a play we are in just now! It is difficultto guess at the catastrophe. Certainly he must be very sure of his holdon the people to propose repealing the May edict, [6] and yet there arepersons who persist in declaring that nobody cares for him and that evena revision of the constitution will not bring about his re-election. _I_am of an opposite mind; though there is not much overt enthusiasm of thepopulation in behalf of his person. Still, this may arise from a quietresolve to keep him where he is, and an assurance that he can't beousted in spite of the people and army. It is significant, I think, thatEmile de Girardin should stretch out a hand (a little dirty, be itobserved in passing), and that Lamartine, after fasting nineteen daysand nights (a miraculous fast, without fear of the 'prefect'), shouldmurmur a 'credo' in favour of his honesty. As to honesty, 'I do believehe's honest;' that is to say, he has acted out no dishonesty _as yet_, and we have no right to interpret doubtful texts into dishonorableallegations. But for ambition--for ambition! Answer from the depth ofyour conscience, 'de profundis. ' Is he or is he not an ambitious man?Does he or does he not mean in his soul to be Napoleon the Second? Yes, yes--I think, you think, we all think. Robert's father and sister have been paying us a visit during the lastthree weeks. They are very affectionate to me, and I love them for hissake and their own, and am very sorry at the thought of losing them, which we are on the point of doing. We hope, however, to establish themin Paris if we can stay, and if no other obstacle should arise beforethe spring, when they must leave Hatcham. Little Wiedeman _draws_; asyou may suppose, he is adored by his grandpapa; and then, Robert! theyare an affectionate family and not easy when removed one from another. Sarianna is full of accomplishment and admirable sense, even-temperedand excellent in all ways--devoted to her father as she was to hermother: indeed, the relations of life seem reversed in their case, andthe father appears the child of the child.... Perhaps you have not seen Eugène Sue's 'Mystères de Paris'--and I am notdeep in the first volume yet. Fancy the wickedness and stupidity oftrying to revive the distinctions and hatreds of race between the Gaulsand Franks. The Gauls, please to understand, are the 'prolétaires, ' andthe capitalists are the Frank invaders (call them Cosaques, says Sue)out of the forests of Germany!... I saw no Mr. Harness; and no Talfourd of any kind. The latter was a kindof misadventure, as Lady Talfourd was on the point of calling on me whenRobert would not let her. We were going away just then. Mr. Horne I hadthe satisfaction of seeing several times--you know how much regard Ifeel for him. One evening he had the kindness to bring his wife milesupon miles just to drink tea with us, and we were to have spent a daywith them somehow, half among the fields, but engagements came betwixtus adversely. She is less pretty and more interesting than Iexpected--looking very young, her black glossy hair hanging down herback in ringlets; with deep earnest eyes, and a silent listening manner. He was full of the 'Household Words, ' and seems to write articlestogether with Dickens--which must be highly unsatisfactory, as Dickens'sname and fame swallow up every sort of minor reputation in the shadow ofhis path. I shouldn't like, for my part (and if I were a fish), to herdwith crocodiles. But I suppose the 'Household Words' _pay_--and that's aconsideration. 'Claudie' I have not read. We have only just subscribedto a library, and we have been absorbed a good deal by our visitors.... Write and don't leave off loving me. I will tell you of everybodynoticeable whom I happen to see, and of George Sand among the first. Love your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ [Paris, ] 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:December 10, [1851]. I receive your letter, dearest friend, and hasten to write a few briefwords to save the post. We have suffered neither fear nor danger--and I would not have missedthe grand spectacle of the second of December[7] for anything in theworld--scarcely, I say, for the sight of the Alps. On the only day in which there was much fighting (Thursday), Wiedemanwas taken out to walk as usual, under the precaution of keeping in theimmediate neighbourhood of this house. This will prove to you how littlewe have feared for ourselves. But the natural emotion of the situation one could not escape from, andon Thursday night I sate up in my dressing gown till nearly one, listening to the distant firing from the boulevards. Thursday was theonly day in which there was fighting of any serious kind. There has been_no resistance_ on the part of the real people--nothing but sympathy forthe President, I _believe_, if you except the natural mortification anddisappointment of baffled parties. To judge from our own tradespeople:'il a bien fait! c'est le vrai neveu de son oncle!' such phrases rung onevery tone expressed the prevailing sentiment. For my own part I have not only more hope in the situation but morefaith in the French people than is ordinary among the English, whoreally try to exceed one another in discoloration and distortion of thecircumstances. The government was in a deadlock--what was to be done?Yes, all parties cried out, 'What was to be done?' and felt that we werewaist deep a fortnight ago in a state of crisis. In throwing back thesovereignty from a 'representative assembly' which had virtually ceasedto represent, into the hands of the people, I think that Louis Napoleondid well. The talk about 'military despotism' is absolute nonsense. TheFrench army is eminently civic, and nations who take their ideas fromthe very opposite fact of a _standing army_ are far from understandinghow absolutely a French soldier and French citizen are the same thing. The independence of the elections seems to be put out of reach ofinjury; and intelligent men of adverse opinions to the government thinkthat the majority will be large in its favour. Such a majority wouldcertainly justify Louis Napoleon, or _should_--even with you in England. I think you quite understate the amount of public virtue in France. Thedifficulties of statesmanship here are enormous. I do not accuse even M. Thiers of want of public virtue. What he has wanted, has been length andbreadth of view--purely an intellectual defect--and his petty, puny_tracasseries_ destroyed the Republican Assembly just as it destroyedthe throne of Louis Philippe, in spite of his own intentions. There is a conflict of ideas in France, which we have no notion of inEngland, but we ought to understand that it does not involve the failingof _principle_, in the elemental moral sense. Be just to France, dearfriend, you who are more than an Englishwoman--a Mrs. Jameson! Everything is perfectly tranquil in Paris, I assure you--theatres fulland galleries open as usual. At the same time, timid and discouragedpersons say, 'Wait till after the elections, ' and of course the publicemotion will be a good deal excited at that time. Therefore, judge foryourself. For my own part I have not had the slightest cause for alarmof any kind--and there is my child! Judge.... The weather is exquisite, and I am going out to walk directly. It isscarcely possible to bear a fire, and some of our friends sit with thewindow open. We are all well. This should have gone to you yesterday, but we had visitors who talkedpast post time. The delay, however, has allowed of my writing more thanI meant to have done in beginning this letter. Robert's best love. Your ever affectionateBA. Robert says that according to the impression of the wisest there can beno danger. Don't wait till after the elections. The time is mostinteresting, and it is well worth your while to come and see foryourself. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ [Paris, ] 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:December 11, [1851]. To show how alive I am, dearest Mrs. Martin, I will tell you that I havejust come home from a long walk to the Tuileries. We took a carriage toreturn, that's true. Then yesterday I was out, besides, and lastSaturday, _the 6th_, we drove down the boulevards to see the field ofaction on the terrible Thursday (the only day on which there was anyfighting of consequence), counting the holes in the walls bored by thecannon, and looking at the windows smashed in. Even then, though theasphalte was black with crowds, the quiet was absolute, and most of theshops reopened. On Sunday the theatres were as full as usual, and ourChamps-Elysées had quite its complement of promenaders. Wiedeman'sprophecy had not been carried out, any more than the prophecies of thewiser may--the soldiers had not shot Punch. And now I do beg you not to be down-hearted. See, if French blood runsin your veins, that you don't take a pedantic view of this question likean Englishwoman. Constitutional forms and essential principles ofliberty are so associated in England, that they are apt to beconfounded, and are, in fact, constantly confounded. For my part, I amtoo good a democrat to be afraid of being thrown back upon the primitivepopular element, from impossible paper constitutions and unrepresentingrepresentative assemblies. The situation was in a deadlock, and all theconflicting parties were full of dangerous hope of taking advantage ofit; and I don't see, for my part, what better could be done for theFrench nation than to sweep the board clear and bid them begin again. With no sort of prejudice in favour of Louis Napoleon (except, I confessto you, some artistical admiration for the consummate ability andcourage shown in his _coup d'état_), with no particular faith in thepurity of his patriotism, I yet hold him justified _so far_, that is, Ihold that a pure patriot would be perfectly justifiable in taking thesame steps which up to this moment he has taken. He has broken, certainly, the husk of an oath, but fidelity to the intention of itseems to me reconcilable with the breach; and if he had not felt that hehad the great mass of the people to back him, he is at least too able aman, be certain, if not too honest a man, to have dared what he hasdared. You will see the result of the elections. As to Paris, don'tbelieve that Paris suffers violence from Louis Napoleon. The result ofmy own impressions is a conviction that _from the beginning_ he had thesympathy of the whole population here with him, to speak generally, andexclusively of particular parties. All our tradespeople, for instance, milkman, breadman, wine merchant, and the rest, yes, even the shrewd oldwasherwoman, and the concierge, and our little lively servant were in aglow of sympathy and admiration. 'Mais, c'est le vrai neveu de sononcle! il est admirable! enfin la patrie sera sauvée. ' The bourgeoisiehas now accepted the situation, it is admitted on all hands. 'Scandalousadhesion!' say some. 'Dreadful apathy!' say others. Don't _you_ sayeither one or the other, or I think you will be unjust to Paris andFrance. The French people are very democratical in their tendencies, but theymust have a visible type of hero-worship, and they find it in the bearerof that name Napoleon. That name is the only tradition dear to them, andit is deeply dear. That a man bearing it, and appealing at the same timeto the whole people upon democratical principles, should be answeredfrom the heart of the people, should neither astonish, nor shame, norenrage anybody. An editor of the 'National, ' a friend of ours, feels this so much, thathe gnashes his teeth over the imprudence of the extreme Reds, who didnot set themselves to trample out the fires of Buonapartism while theyhad some possibility of doing it. 'Ce peuple a la tête _dure_, ' said hevehemently. As to military despotism, would France bear _that_, do you think? Is theFrench army, besides, made after the fashion of standing armies, such aswe see in other countries? Are they not eminently _civic_, flesh of thepeople's flesh? I fear no military despotism for France, oh, none. Everysoldier is a citizen, and every citizen is or has been a soldier. Altogether, instead of despairing, I am full of hope. It seems to meprobable that the door is open to a wider and calmer political libertythan France has yet enjoyed. Let us wait. The American _forms_ of republicanism are most uncongenial to thisartistic people; but democratical institutions will deepen and broaden, I think, even if we should soon all be talking of the 'Empire. ' As to the repressive measures, why, grant the righteousness of themovement, and you must accept its conditions. Don't believe thetremendous exaggerations you are likely to hear on all sides--don't, Ibeseech you. The President rode under our windows on December 2, through a shoutextending from the Carrousel to the Arc de l'Etoile. The troups pouredin as we stood and looked. No sight could be grander, and I would nothave missed it, not for the Alps, I say. You say nothing specific. How I should like to know _why_ exactly youare out of spirits, and whether dear Mr. Martin is sad too. Robert and Ihave had some domestic _émeutes_, because he hates some imperial names;yet he confessed to me last night that the excessive and contradictorynonsense he had heard among Legitimists, Orleanists, and _English_, against the movement inclined him almost to a revulsion of feeling. I would have written to you to-day, even if I had not received yourletter. You will forgive that what I have written should have beenscratched in the utmost haste to save the post. I can't even read itover. There's the effect of going out to walk the first thing in themorning.... Your ever affectionateBA--to both of you. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ [Paris, ] 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:Christmas Eve, [1851]. What can you have thought of me? That I was shot or deserved to be?Forgive in the first instance, dearest friend, and believe that I won'tbehave so any more, if in any way I can help it. Tell me your thought now about L. Napoleon. He rode under our windows onDecember 2 through an immense shout from the Carrousel to the Arc del'Etoile. There was the army and the sun of Austerlitz, and even Ithought it one of the grandest of sights; for he rode there in the nameof the people, after all.... But we know men most opposed to him, writers of the old 'Presse' and'National, ' and Orleanists, and Legitimists, and the fury of all such Ican scarcely express to you after the life. Emile de Girardin and hisfriends had a sublime scheme of going over in a body to England, andestablishing a Socialist periodical, inscribing on their new habitation, 'Ici c'est la France. ' He actually advertised for sale his beautifulhouse close by in the Champs-Elysées, asked ten thousand pounds(English) for it; and would have been 'rather disappointed, ' as one ofhis sympathising friends confessed to us, if the offer had beenaccepted. I heard a good story the other day. A lady visitor wasgroaning politically to Madame de Girardin over the desperateness of thesituation. 'Il n'y a que Celui, qui est en haut, qui peut nous entirer, ' said she, casting up her eyes. 'Oui, c'est vrai, ' repliedMadame, 'il le pourrait, lui, ' glancing towards the second floor, whereEmile was at work upon feuilletons. Not that she mistakes him habituallyfor her deity, by any manner of means, if scandal is to be listened to. I hear that Lamennais is profoundly disgusted. He said to a friend ofours, that the French people were 'putrefied to the heart. ' Which meansthat they have one tradition still dear to them (the name of Napoleon)and that they put no faith in the Socialistic prophets. Wise or unwisethey may be accordingly; but an affection and an apprehension can'treasonably be said to amount to a 'putrefaction, ' I think. No, indeed. Louis Napoleon is said to say (a bitter foe of his told me this) that'there will be four phases of his life. ' The first was all rashness andimprudence, but 'it was necessary to make him known:' the second, 'thestruggle with and triumph over anarchy:' the third, 'the settlement ofFrance and the pacification of Europe:' the fourth, a _coup de pistolet. Se non è vero, è ben trovato. _ Nothing is more likely than thecatastrophe in any case; and the violence of the passions excited in theminority makes me wonder at his surviving a day even. Do you know Iheard your idol of a Napoleon (the antique hero) called the otherevening through a black beard and gnashing teeth, 'le plus grandscélérat du monde, ' and his empire, 'le règne du Satan, ' and hismarshals, 'les coquins. ' After that, I won't tell you that 'le neveu' isreproached with every iniquity possible to anybody's public and privatelife. Perhaps he is not 'sans reproche' in respect to the latter, notaltogether; but one can't believe, and oughtn't, even infinitesimally, the things which are talked on the subject.... Ah, I am so vexed about George Sand. She came, she has gone, and wehaven't met! There was a M. François who pretended to be her very veryparticular friend, and who managed the business so particularly ill, from some motive or some incapacity, that he did not give us anopportunity of presenting our letter. He did not '_dare_' to present itfor us, he said. She is shy--she distrusts bookmaking strangers, and sheintended to be incognita while in Paris. He proposed that we shouldleave it at the theatre, and Robert refused. Robert said he wouldn'thave our letter mixed up with the love letters of the actresses, orperhaps given to the 'premier comique' to read aloud in the green room, as a relief to the 'Chère adorable, ' which had produced so muchlaughter. Robert was a little proud and M. François very stupid; and I, between the two, in a furious state of dissent from either. Robert triesto smooth down my ruffled plumage now, by promising to look out for someother opportunity, but the late one has gone. She is said to haveappeared in Paris in a bloom of recovered beauty and brilliancy of eyes, and the success of her play, 'Le Mariage de Victorine, ' was complete. Astrange, wild, wonderful woman, certainly. While she was here, she useda bedroom which belongs to her son--a mere 'chambre de garçon'--and forthe rest, saw whatever friends she chose to see only at the 'café, 'where she breakfasted and dined. She has just finished a romance, wehear, and took fifty-two nights to write it. She writes only at night. People call her Madame Sand. There seems to be no other name for her insociety or letters. Now listen. Alexandre Dumas _does_ write his own books, that's a fact. You know I always maintained it, through the odour of Dumas in thebooks, but people swore the contrary with great foolish oaths worthnothing. Maquet prepares historical materials, gathers together notes, and so on, but Dumas writes every word of his books with his own hand, and with a facility amounting to inspiration, said my informant. Hecalled him a great savage negro child. If he has twenty sous and wantsbread, he buys a pretty cane instead. For the rest, 'bon enfant, ' kindand amiable. An inspired negro child! In debt at this moment, after allthe sums he has made, said my informant--himself a most credible witnessand highly cultivated man. I heard of Eugène Sue, too, yesterday. Our child is invited to aChristmas tree and party, and Robert says he is too young to go, but Ipersist in sending him for half an hour with Wilson--oh, really Imust--though he will be by far the youngest of the thirty childreninvited. The lady of the house, Miss Fitton, an English resident inParis, an elderly woman, shrewd and kind, said to Robert that she had agreat mind to have Eugène Sue, only he was so scampish. I think that wasthe word, or something alarmingly equivalent. Now I should like to seeEugène Sue with my little innocent child in his arms; the idea of thecombination pleases me somewhat. But I sha'n't see it in any case. Wehad three cold days last week, which brought back my cough and took awaymy voice. I am dumb for the present and can't go out any more.... At last I have caught sight of an advertisement of your book. A verycatching title, and if I mayn't compliment you upon it, I certainly doyour publisher. I dare say the book is charming, and the more ofyourself in it, the more charming. Write, and say how you are always when you write. Say, too, how youcontinue to like your new house. We heard a good deal of you from Mr. Fields, though he came to us only once. With him came Mr. Longfellow, the poet's brother, who is at present in Paris--I mean the brother, notthe poet. Robert's love, may I say? Wiedeman has struck up two friendships: one, with the small daughter ofour concierge and one with a little Russian princess, a month youngerthan himself. He calls them both 'boys, ' having no idea yet of the lesssublime sex, but he likes the plebeian best. May God make you happy onthis and other seasons! Love your affectionate and gratefulBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ [Paris, ] 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:January 17, [1852]. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --If you think I have not written to you, youmust be (as you are) the most lenient of friends, not to give me up forever. I answered your first letter by return of post and at greatlength. About a fortnight ago, Robert heard from Madame Mohl, who heardfrom somebody at Pau that you were 'waiting anxiously to hear from me, 'upon which I wrote a second letter. And that, too, did not reach you? Isit possible? But I am innocent, innocent, innocent. See how innocent. Now, if M. Le Président has stopped my letters, or if he ponders in hisimperial mind how to send me out of Paris, he is as ungrateful as aking, because I have been taking his part all this time at a great costof domestic _émeutes_. So you would have known, if you had received myletters. The _coup d'état_ was a grand thing, dramatically andpoetically speaking, and the appeal to the people justified it in myeyes, considering the immense difficulty of the circumstances, theimpossibility of the old constitution and the impracticability of theHouse of Assembly. Now that's all over. For the rest--the newconstitution--I can't say as much for it; it disappoints me immensely. Absolute government, _no_, while the taxes and acceptance of law lies, as he leaves it, with the people; but there are stupidities undeniable, I am afraid, and how such a constitution is to _work_, and how marshalsand cardinals are to help to work it, remains to be seen. I fear we havenot made a good change even from the 'constitution Marrast'[8] afterall. The English newspapers have made me so angry, that I scarcely knowwhether I am as much ashamed, yet the shame is very great. As if thepeople of France had not a right to vote as they pleased![9] Weunderstand nothing in England. As Cousin said, long ago, we are'insular' of understanding. France may be mistaken in her speculations, as she often is; and if any mistake has been lately committed, it willbe corrected by herself in a short time. Ignoble in her speculations shenever is.... I must tell you, my dearest friend, that for some days past I have beenvery much upset, and am scarcely now fairly on my feet again, inconsequence of becoming suddenly aware of a painful indiscretioncommitted by an affectionate and generous woman. I refer to MissMitford's account of me in her new book. [10] We heard of it in a strangeway, through M. Philaret Chasles, of the Collège de France, beginning acourse of lectures on English literature, and announcing an extendednotice of E. B. B. , 'the veil from whose private life had lately beenraised by Miss Mitford. ' Somebody who happened to be present told us ofit, and while we were wondering and uncomfortable, up came a writer inthe 'Revue des Deux Mondes' to consult Robert upon a difficulty he wasin. He was engaged, he said, upon an article relating to me, and theproprietors of the review had sent him a number of the 'Athenæum, ' whichcontained an extract from Miss M. 's book, desiring him to make use ofthe biographical details. Now it struck him immediately, he said, onreading the passage, that it was likely to give me great pain, and hewas so unwilling to be the means of giving me more pain that he came toRobert to ask him how he should act. Do observe the delicacy andsensibility of this man--a man, a foreigner, a Frenchman! I shall begrateful to him as long as I live. [11] Robert has seen the extract in the 'Athenæum. ' It refers to the greataffliction of my life, with the most affectionate intentions and theobtusest understanding. I know I am morbid, but this thing should nothave been done indeed. Now, I shall be liable to see recollectionsdreadful to me, thrust into every vulgar notice of my books. I shall beafraid to see my books reviewed anywhere. Oh! I have been so deeplyshaken by all this. _You_ will understand, I am certain, and I could nothelp speaking of it to you, because I was certain. I am answering your note, observe, by return of post. Do let me know ifyou receive what I write this time. Robert will direct for me, havingfaith in his superior legibleness, and I accept the insult implied inthe opinion. God bless you. Do write. And never doubt my grateful affection for you, whether posts go ill or well. Robert is going out to inquire about 'My Novel. ' His warm regards withmine to dear Mr. Martin and yourself. This is a scratch rather than aletter, but I would rather send it to you in haste than wait for anotherpost. Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * The following letter marks the beginning of a new friendship, with MissMulock, afterwards Mrs. Craik, the authoress of 'John Halifax, Gentleman. ' The subsequent letters are in very affectionate tones, butit does not appear that the correspondence ever reached any veryextended dimensions. * * * * * _To Miss Mulock_ Paris, 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:January 21, [1852]. I hear from England that you have dedicated a book to me with too kindand most touching words. To thank you for such a proof of sympathy, tothank you from my heart, cannot surely be a wrong thing to do, it seemsso natural and comes from so irresistible an impulse. I read a book of yours once at Florence, which first made [me] know youpleasantly, and afterwards (that was at Florence, too) there came apiercing touch from a hand in the air--whether yours also, I cannot dareto guess--which has preoccupied me a good deal since. If I speak to youin mysteries, forgive me. Let it be clear at least, that I am very happyto be grateful to you for the honor you have done me in your dedication, and that my husband, moved more, as he always is, by honor paid to methan to himself, thanks you beside. I will not keep back his thanks, which are worth more than mine can be. For the rest, we have, neither of us, seen the book yet, nor even readan exact copy of the words in question. Only the rumour of them appearsto run that I am 'not likely ever to see you. ' And why am I never to seeyou, pray? Unlikelier pleasures have been granted to me, and I will notindeed lose hold of the hope of this pleasure. Allow it to Your always obligedELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ [Paris, ] 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:[January-February 1852]. My very dear friend, let me begin what I have to say by recognising youas the most generous and affectionate of friends. I never could mistakethe least of your intentions; you were always, from first to last, kindand tenderly indulgent to me--always exaggerating what was good in me, always forgetting what was faulty and weak--keeping me by force ofaffection in a higher place than I could aspire to by force of vanity;loving me always, in fact. Now let me tell you the truth. It will provehow hard it is for the tenderest friends to help paining one another, since _you_ have pained _me_. See what a deep wound I must have in me, to be pained by the touch of such a hand. Oh, I am morbid, I very wellknow. But the truth is that I have been miserably upset by your book, and that if I had had the least imagination of your intending to touchupon certain biographical details in relation to me, I would haveconjured you by your love to me and by my love to you, to forbear italtogether. You cannot understand; no, you cannot understand with allyour wide sympathy (perhaps, because you are not morbid, and I am), thesort of susceptibility I have upon one subject. I have lived heart toheart (for instance) with my husband these five years: I have never yetspoken out, in a whisper even, what is in me; never yet could find heartor breath; never yet could bear to hear a word of reference from hislips. And now those dreadful words are going the round of thenewspapers, to be verified here, commented on there, gossiped abouteverywhere; and I, for my part, am frightened to look at a paper as achild in the dark--as unreasonably, you will say--but what then? whatdrives us mad is our unreason. I will tell you how it was. First of all, an English acquaintance here told us that she had been hearing a lectureat the Collège de France, and that the professor, M. Philaret Chasles, in the introduction to a series of lectures on English poetry, hadexpressed his intention of noticing Tennyson, Browning, &c. , andE. B. B. --'from whose private life the veil had been raised in sointeresting a manner lately by Miss Mitford. ' In the midst of my anxietyabout this, up comes a writer of the 'Revue des Deux Mondes' to myhusband, to say that he was preparing a review upon me and had beendirected by the editor to make use of some biographical detailsextracted from your book into the 'Athenæum, ' but that it had occurredto him doubtfully whether certain things might not be painful to me, andwhether I might not prefer their being omitted in his paper. (All thistime we had seen neither book nor 'Athenæum. ') Robert answered for methat the omission of such and such things would be much preferred by me, and accordingly the article appears in the 'Revue' with the passage fromyour book garbled and curtailed as seemed best to the quoter. ThenRobert set about procuring the 'Athenæum' in question. He tells me (and_that_ I perfectly believe) that, for the facts to be given at all, theycould not possibly be given with greater delicacy; oh, and I will addfor myself, that for them to be related by anyone during my life, Iwould rather have _you_ to relate them than another. But why should theybe related during my life? There was no need, no need. To show mynervous susceptibility in the length and breadth of it to you, I _couldnot_ (when it came to the point) _bear to read_ the passage extracted inthe 'Athenæum, ' notwithstanding my natural anxiety to see exactly whatwas done. I could not bear to do it. I made Robert read it aloud--withomissions--so that I know all your kindness. I feel it deeply; throughtears of pain I feel it; and if, as I dare say you will, you think mevery very foolish, do not on that account think me ungrateful. Ungrateful I never can be to you, my much loved and kindest friend. I hear your book is considered one of your best productions, and I donot doubt that the opinion is just. Thank you for giving it to us, thankyou. I don't like to send you a letter from Paris without a word about yourhero--'handsome, ' I fancy not, nor the imperial type. I have not seenhis face distinctly. What do you think about the constitution? Will itwork, do you fancy, now-a-days in France? The initiative of the laws, put out of the power of the legislative assembly, seems to me astupidity; and the senators, in their fine dresses, make me wink alittle. Also, I hear that the 'senatorial cardinals' don't please thepeasants, who hate the priesthood as much as they hate the 'Cossacks. 'On the other hand, Montalembert was certainly in bed the other day withvexation, because 'nobody could do anything with Louis Napoleon--he wasobstinate;' 'nous nous en lavons les mains, ' and that fact gives me hopethat not too much indulgence is intended to the Church. There's to be aball at the Tuileries with 'court dresses, ' which is 'un peu fort' fora republic. By the way, rumour (with apparent authority justifying it)says, that a black woman opened her mouth and prophesied to him at Ham, 'he should be the head of the French nation, and be assassinated in aball-room. ' I was assured that he believes the prophecy firmly, 'beingin all things too superstitious' and fatalistical. I was interrupted in this letter yesterday. Meantime comes out thedecree against the Orleans property, which I disapprove of altogether. It's the worst thing yet done, to my mind. Yet the Bourse stands fast, and the decree is likely enough to be popular with the ouvrier class. There are rumours of tremendously wild financial measures, only Ibelieve in no rumours just now, and apparently the Bourse is asincredulous on this particular point. If I thought (as people say) thatwe are on the verge of a 'law' declaring the Roman Catholic religion theState religion, I should give him up at once; but this would be contraryto the traditions of the Empire, and I can't suppose it to be probableon any account. Observe, I am no Napoleonist. I am simply a _democrat_, and hold thatthe majority of a nation has the right of choice upon the question ofits own government, _even where it makes a mistake_. Therefore theoutcry of the English newspapers is most disgusting to me. For the rest, one can hardly do strict justice, at this time of transition, to theultimate situation of the country; we must really wait a little, tillthe wind and rain shall have ceased to dash so in one's eyes. The witsgo on talking, though, all the same; and I heard a suggestion yesterday, that, for the effaced 'Liberté, égalité, fraternité, ' should be writtenup, 'Infanterie, cavallerie, artillerie. ' That's the last 'mot, ' Ibelieve. The salons are very noisy. A lady was ordered to her countryseat the other day for exclaiming, 'Et il n'y a pas de CharlotteCorday. ' Forgive, with this dull letter, my other defects. Always I am frank toyou, saying what is in my heart; and there is always there, dearest MissMitford, a fruitful and grateful affection to you from your E. B. B. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ [Paris], 138 Avenue des Ch. -Elysées:February 15, [1852]. Thank you, thank you, my beloved friend. Yes; I do understand in myheart all your kindness. Yes, I do believe that on some points I am fullof disease; and this has exposed me several times to shocks of pain inthe ordinary intercourse of the world, which for bystanders were hard, Idare say, to make out. Once at the Baths of Lucca I was literally nearlystruck down to the ground by a single word said in all kindness by afriend whom I had not seen for ten years. The blue sky reeled over me, and I caught at something, not to fall. Well, there is no use dwellingon this subject. I understand your affectionateness and tenderconsideration, I repeat, and thank you; and love you, which is better. Now, let us talk of reasonable things. Béranger lives close to us, and Robert has seen him in his white hatwandering along the asphalte. I had a notion somehow that he was veryold; but he is only elderly, not much indeed above sixty (which is theprime of life now-a-days), and he lives quietly and keeps out of scrapespoetical and political, and if Robert and I had but a little lessmodesty we are assured that we should find access to him easy. But wecan't make up our minds to go to his door and introduce ourselves asvagrant minstrels, when he may probably not know our names. We never_could_ follow the fashion of certain authors who send their books aboutwithout intimations of their being likely to be acceptable or not, ofwhich practice poor Tennyson knows too much for his peace. If, indeed, aletter of introduction to Béranger were vouchsafed to us from any benignquarter, we should both be delighted, but we must wait patiently forthe influence of the stars. Meanwhile, we have at last sent our letter(Mazzini's) to George Sand, accompanied with a little note signed byboth of us, though written by me, as seemed right, being the woman. Wehalf despaired in doing this, for it is most difficult, it appears, toget at her, she having taken vows against seeing strangers inconsequence of various annoyances and persecutions in and out of print, which it's the mere instinct of a woman to avoid. I can understand itperfectly. Also, she is in Paris for only a few days, and under a newname, to escape from the plague of her notoriety. People said to us:'She will never see you; you have no chance, I am afraid. ' But wedetermined to try. At last I pricked Robert up to the leap, for he wasreally inclined to sit in his chair and be proud a little. 'No, ' said I, 'you _shan't_ be proud, and I _won't_ be proud, and we _will_ see her. Iwon't die, if I can help it, without seeing George Sand. ' So we gave ourletter to a friend who was to give it to a friend, who was to place itin her hands, her abode being a mystery and the name she used unknown. The next day came by the post this answer: Madame, --J'aurai l'honneur de vous recevoir dimanche prochain rue Racine 3. C'est le seul jour que je puisse passer chez moi, et encore je n'en suis pas absolument certaine. Mais j'y ferai tellement mon possible, que ma bonne étoile m'y aidera peut-être un peu. Agréez mille remercîments de coeur, ainsi que Monsieur Browning, que j'espère voir avec vous, pour la sympathie que vous m'accordez. GEORGE SAND. Paris: 12 février, 52. This is graceful and kind, is it not? And we are going to-morrow; I, rather at the risk of my life. But I shall roll myself up head and allin a thick shawl, and we shall go in a close carriage, and I hope Ishall be able to tell you about the result before shutting up thisletter. One of her objects in coming to Paris this time was to get a commutationof the sentence upon her friend Dufraisse, who was ordered to Cayenne. She had an interview accordingly with the President. He shook hands withher and granted her request, and in the course of conversation pointedto a great heap of 'Decrees' on the table, being hatched 'for the goodof France. ' I have heard scarcely anything of him, except from hisprofessed enemies; and it is really a good deal the simple recoil frommanifest falsehoods and gross exaggerations which has thrown me on theground of his defenders. For the rest, it remains to be _proved_, Ithink, whether he is a mere ambitious man, or better--whether hispersonality or his country stands highest with him as an object. Ithought and still think that a Washington might have dissolved theAssembly as he did, and appealed to the people. Which is not saying, however, that he is a Washington. We must wait, I think, to judge theman. Only it is right to bear in mind one fact, that, admitting thelawfulness of the _coup d'état_, you must not object to thedictatorship. And, admitting the temporary necessity of thedictatorship, it is absolute folly to expect under it the liberty andease of a regular government. What has saved him with me from the beginning was his appeal to thepeople, and what makes his government respectable in my eyes is theanswer of the people to that appeal. Being a democrat, I dare to be so_consequently_. There never was a more legitimate chief of a State thanLouis Napoleon is now--elected by seven millions and a half; and I domaintain that, ape or demi-god, to insult him where he is, is to insultthe people who placed him there. As to the stupid outcry in Englandabout forced votes, voters pricked forward by bayonets--why, nothing canbe more stupid. Nobody not blinded by passion could maintain such athing for a moment. No Frenchman, however blinded by passion, hasmaintained it in my presence. A very philosophically minded man (French) was talking of these thingsthe other day--one of the most thoughtful, liberal men I ever knew ofany country, and high and pure in his moral views--also (let me add)more _anglomane_ in general than I am. He was talking of the Englishpress. He said he 'did it justice for good and noble intentions' (morethan I do!), 'but marvelled at its extraordinary ignorance. Thosewriters did not know the A B C of France. Then, as to Louis Napoleon, whether he was right or wrong, they erred in supposing him not to be inearnest with his constitution and other remedies for France. The factwas, he not only was in earnest--he was even _fanatical_. ' There is, of course, much to deplore in the present state ofaffairs--much that is very melancholy. The constitution is not a modelone, and no prospect of even comparative liberty of the Press has beenoffered. At the same time, I hope still. As tranquillity is established, there will be certain modifications; this, indeed, has been intimated, and I think the Press will by degrees attain to its emancipation. Meanwhile, the 'Athenæum' and other English papers say wrongly thatthere is a censure established on books. There is a censure on pamphletsand newspapers--on _books_, no. Cormenin is said to have been theadviser of the Orleans confiscation.... * * * * * _To John Kenyon_ [Paris], 138 Avenue des Ch. -Elysées:February 15, 1852. My dearest Mr. Kenyon, --Robert sends you his Shelley, [12] having a veryfew copies allowed to him to dispose of. I think you have Shelley'sother letters, of which this volume is the supplement, and you will notbe sorry to have Robert's preface thrown in, though he makes very lightof it himself. You never write a word to us, and so I don't mean to send you a letterto-day--only as few lines as I can drop in a sulky fit, repenting as Igo on. As to politics, you know you have all put me in the cornerbecause I stand up for universal suffrage, and am weak enough to fancythat seven millions and a half of Frenchmen have some right to anopinion on their own affairs. It's really fatal in this world to beconsequent--it leads one into damnable errors. So I shall not say muchmore at present. You must bear with me--dear Miss Bayley and all ofyou--and believe of me, if I am ever so wrong, that I do at least prayfrom my soul, 'May the right prevail!'--loving right, truth, justice, and the people through whatever mistakes. As it was in the beginning, from 'Casa Guidi Windows, ' so it is now from the Avenue desChamps-Elysées. I am most humanly liable, of course, to make mistakes, and am by temperament perhaps over hopeful and sanguine. But I do seewith my own eyes and feel with my own spirit, and not with otherpeople's eyes and spirits, though they should happen to be thedearest--and that's the very best of me, be certain, so don't quarrelwith it too much. As to the worst of the President, let him have vulture's beak, hyena'steeth, and the rattle of the great serpent, it's nothing to thequestion. Let him be Caligula's horse raised to the consulship--whatthen? I am not a Buonapartist; I am simply a 'democrat, ' as you say. Isimply hold to the fact that, such as he is, the people chose him, andto the opinion that they have a right to choose whom they please. Whenyour English Press denies the _fact of the choice_ (a fact which themost passionate of party-men does not think of denying here), _I_ seemto have a right to another opinion which might strike you as unpatrioticif I uttered it in this place. _Hic tacet_, then, rather _jacet_. For the rest, for heaven's sake and the truth's, do let us try to takebreath a little and be patient. Let us wait till the dust of thestruggle clears away before we take measures of the circus. We can'thave the liberty of a regular government under a dictatorship. And ifthe 'constitution' which is coming is not model, it may wear itself intoshape by being worked calmly. These new boots will be easier to the feetafter half an hour's walking. Not that I like the pinching meanwhile. Not that stringencies upon the Press please _me_--no, nor arrests andimprisonments. I like these things, God knows, as little as the loudestcurser of you all, but I don't think it necessary and lawful toexaggerate and over-colour, nor to paint the cheeks of sorrows intohorrors, nor to talk, like the 'Quarterly Review' (betwixt excuses forthe King of Naples), of two thousand four hundred persons being cut tomincemeat in the streets of Paris, nor to call boldness hypocrisy(because hypocrisy is the worse word), and the appeal to the sovereigntyof the people usurpation, and universal suffrage the pricking ofbayonets. Above all, I would avoid insulting the whole French nation, who have judged their own position and acted accordingly. If LouisNapoleon disappoints their expectation, he won't sit long where he is. Of that I feel satisfactory assurance; and, considering the nationalhabits of insurrection, I really think that others may. Meanwhile it is just to tell you that the two deepest-minded personswhom we have known in Paris--one an ultra-Republican of Europeanreputation (I don't like mentioning names), and the other aConstitutionalist of the purest and noblest moral nature--are bothinclined to take favorable views of the President's personal characterand intentions. For my part, I don't pretend to an opinion. He may be, as they say, '_bon enfant_, ' '_homme de conscience_, ' and 'so much inearnest as to be fanatical, ' or he may be a wretch and a reptile, as yousay in England. That's nothing to the question as I see it. I don't takeit up by that handle at all. Caligula's horse or the people's'Messiah, ' as I heard him called the other day--what then? You arewonderfully intolerant, you in England, of equine consulships, you whobear with quite sufficient equanimity a great rampancy of beasts allover the world--Mr. Forster not blowing the trumpet of war, and Mrs. Alfred Tennyson not loading the rifles. There now--I've done with politics to-day. Only just let me tell youthat Cormenin is said to be the adviser in the matter of the Orleansdecrees. So much the worse for him. Whom do you think I saw yesterday? George Sand. Oh, I have been in suchfear about it! It's the most difficult thing to get access to her, and, notwithstanding our letter from Mazzini, we were assured on all sidesthat she would not see us. She has been persecuted by bookmakers--run toground by the race, and, after having quite lost her on her former visitto Paris, it was in half despair that we seized on an opportunity ofcommitting our letter of introduction to a friend of a friend of hers, who promised to put it into her own hands. With the letter I wrote alittle note--I writing, as I was the woman, and both of us signing it. To my delight, we had an answer by the next day's post, gracious andgraceful, desiring us to call on her last Sunday. So we went. Robert let me at last, though I had a struggle for eventhat, the air being rather over-sharp for me. But I represented to himthat one might as well lose one's life as one's peace of mind for ever, and if I lost seeing her I should with difficulty get over it. So I puton my respirator, smothered myself with furs, and, in a close carriage, did not run much risk after all. She received us very kindly, with hand stretched out, which I, with anatural emotion (I assure you my heart beat), stooped and kissed, whenshe said quickly, 'Mais non, je ne veux pas, ' and kissed my lips. She issomewhat large for her height--not tall--and was dressed with greatnicety in a sort of grey serge gown and jacket, made after the rulingfashion just now, and fastened up to the throat, plain linen collaretteand sleeves. Her hair was uncovered, divided on the forehead in black, glossy bandeaux, and twisted up behind. The eyes and brow are noble, andthe nose is of a somewhat Jewish character; the chin a little recedes, and the mouth is not good, though mobile, flashing out a sudden smilewith its white projecting teeth. There is no sweetness in the face, butgreat moral as well as intellectual capacities--only it never _could_have been a beautiful face, which a good deal surprised me. The chiefdifference in it since it was younger is probably that the cheeks areconsiderably fuller than they used to be, but this of course does notalter the type. Her complexion is of a deep olive. I observed that herhands were small and well-shaped. We sate with her perhapsthree-quarters of an hour or more--in which time she gave advice andvarious directions to two or three young men who were there, showing herconfidence in us by the freest use of names and allusion to facts. Sheseemed to be, in fact, _the man_ in that company, and the profoundrespect with which she was listened to a good deal impressed me. You areaware from the newspapers that she came to Paris for the purpose ofseeing the President in behalf of certain of her friends, and that itwas a successful mediation. What is peculiar in her manners andconversation is the absolute simplicity of both. Her voice is low andrapid, without emphasis or variety of modulation. Except one brilliantsmile, she was grave--indeed, she was speaking of grave matters, andmany of her friends are in adversity. But you could not help seeing(both Robert and I saw it) that in all she said, even in her kindnessand pity, there was an under-current of scorn. A scorn of pleasing sheevidently had; there never could have been a colour of coquetry in thatwoman. Her very freedom from affectation and consciousness had a touchof disdain. But I liked her. I did not love her, but I felt the burningsoul through all that quietness, and was not disappointed in GeorgeSand. When we rose to go I could not help saying, 'C'est pour ladernière fois, ' and then she asked us to repeat our visit next Sunday, and excused herself from coming to see us on the ground of a great pressof engagements. She kissed me again when we went away, and Robert kissedher hand. Lady Elgin has offered to take him one day this week to visit Lamartine(who, we hear, will be glad to see us, having a cordial feeling towardsEngland and English poets), but I shall wait for some very warm day forthat visit, not meaning to run mortal risks, except for George Sand. _Nota bene. _ We didn't see her smoke. Robert has ventured to send to your house, my dearest friend, two copiesof 'Shelley' besides yours--one for Mr. Procter, and one for Mrs. Jameson, with kindest love, both. There is no hurry about either, youknow. We wanted another for dear Miss Bayley, but we have only sixcopies, and don't keep one for ourselves, and she won't care, I daresay. Your ever most affectionate and gratefulBA. Will you let your servant put this letter into the post for MissMitford? She upset me by her book, but had the most affectionateintentions, and I am obliged to her for what she meant. Then I ammorbid, I know. Tell dearest Miss Bayley, with my love, I shall write to her soon. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ [Paris], 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:February 26, [1852]. Never believe of me so bad a thing as that I could have received fromyou, my ever dear and very dear friend, such a letter as you describe, and rung hollow in return. I did not get your letter, so how could Isend an answer? Your letter's lost, like some other happy things. But Ithank you for it fervently, guessing from what you say the sympathy andaffection of it. I thank you for it most gratefully. As for poor dear Miss Mitford's book, I was entirely upset by thebiography she thought it necessary or expedient to give of me. Oh, ifour friends would but put off anatomising one till after one was safelydead, and call to mind that, previously, we have nerves to be agonisedand morbid brains to be driven mad! I am morbid, I know. I can't bearsome words even from Robert. Like the lady who lay in the grave, and wasever after of the colour of a shroud, so I am white-souled, the past hasleft its mark with me for ever. And now (this is the worst) everynewspaper critic who talks of my poems may refer to other things. Ishall not feel myself safe a moment from references which stab like aknife. But poor dear Miss Mitford, if we don't forgive what's meant askindness, how are we to forgive what's meant as injury? In my firstagitation I felt it as a real vexation that I couldn't be angry withher. How could I, poor thing? She has always loved me, and been soanxious to please me, and this time she seriously thought that Robertand I would be delighted. Extraordinary defect of comprehension! Still, I did not, I could not, conceal from her that she had given megreat pain, and she replied in a tone which really made me almost feelungrateful for being pained, she said 'rather that her whole book hadperished than have given me a moment's pain. ' How are you to feel after_that_? For the rest, it appears that she had merely come forward to the rescueof my reputation, no more than so. Sundry romantic tales had been incirculation about me. I was 'in widow's weeds' in my habitualcostume--and, in fact, before I was married I had grievously scandalisedthe English public (the imaginative part of the public), and it wasexpedient to 'tirer de l'autre coté. ' Well, I might have laughed at _that_--but I didn't. I wrote a veryaffectionate letter, for I really love Miss Mitford, though sheunderstands me no more under certain respects than you in Englandunderstand Louis Napoleon and the French nation. Love's love. She meantthe best to me--and so, do you, who have a much more penetrating senseof delicacy, forgive her for my sake, dear friend.... Of the memoirs of Madame Ossoli, I know only the extracts in the'Athenæum. ' She was a most interesting woman to me, though I did notsympathise with a large portion of her opinions. Her written works arejust _naught_. She said herself they were sketches, thrown out in hasteand for the means of subsistence, and that the sole production of herswhich was likely to represent her at all would be the history of theItalian Revolution. In fact, her reputation, such as it was in America, seemed to stand mainly on her conversation and oral lectures. If Iwished anyone to do her justice, I should say, as I have indeed said, 'Never read what she has written. ' The letters, however, are individual, and full, I should fancy, of that magnetic personal influence which wasso strong in her. I felt drawn in towards her, during our shortintercourse; I loved her, and the circumstances of her death shook me tothe very roots of my heart. The comfort is, that she lost little in thisworld--the change could not be loss to her. She had suffered, and waslikely to suffer still more. And now, am I to tell you that I have seen George Sand twice, and am tosee her again? Ah, there is no time to tell you, for I must shut up thisletter. She sate, like a priestess, the other morning in a circle ofeight or nine men, giving no oracles, except with her splendid eyes, sitting at the corner of the fire, and warming her feet quietly, in ageneral silence of the most profound deference. There was something inthe calm disdain of it which pleased me, and struck me ascharacteristic. She was George Sand, that was enough: you wanted noproof of it. Robert observed that 'if any other mistress of a house hadbehaved so, he would have walked out of the room'--but, as it was, nosort of incivility was meant. In fact, we hear that she 'likes us verymuch, ' and as we went away she called me 'chère Madame' and kissed me, and desired to see us both again. I did not read myself the passage in question from Miss M. 's book. Icouldn't make up my mind, my courage, to look at it. But I understoodfrom Robert. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ [Paris], 138 Avenue des Ch. -Elysées:February 27, [1852]. I get your second letter, my dearest Mrs. Martin, before I answer yourfirst, which makes me rather ashamed. ... Dearest friend, it is true that I have seldom been so upset as bythis act of poor dear Miss Mitford's, and the very impossibility ofbeing vindictive on this occasion increased my agitation at themoment.... There are defects in delicacy and apprehensiveness, one cannot deny it, and yet I assure you that a more generous and fervent woman never livedthan dear Miss Mitford is, and if you knew her you would do her thisjustice. She is better in herself than in her books--more large, moreenergetic, more human altogether. I think I understand her better on thewhole than she understands me (which is not saying much), and I admireher on various accounts. She talks better, for instance, than mostwriters, male or female, whom I have had any intercourse with. Andaffectionate in the extreme, she has always been to me. So I have mystified you and disgusted you with my politics, and myfriends in England have put me in the corner; just so.... The French nation is very peculiar. We choose to boast ourselves ofbeing different in England, but we have simply _les qualités de nosdéfauts_ after all. The clash of speculative opinions is dreadful here, practical men catch at the ideal as if it were a loaf of bread, and theyliterally set about cutting out their Romeos 'into little stars, ' as ifthat were the most natural thing in the world. As for the socialists, Iquite agree with you that various of them, yes, and some of their chiefmen, are full of pure and noble aspiration, the most virtuous of men andthe most benevolent. Still, they hold in their hands, in their cleanhands, ideas that kill, ideas which defile, ideas which, if carried out, would be the worst and most crushing kind of despotism. I would ratherlive under the feet of the Czar than in those states of perfectibilityimagined by Fourier and Cabet, if I might choose my 'pis aller. ' Allthese speculators (even Louis Blanc, who is one of the most rational)would revolutionalise, not merely countries, but the elementalconditions of humanity, it seems to me; none of them seeing thatantagonism is necessary to all progress. A man, in walking, must set onefoot before another, and in climbing (as Dante observed long ago) thefoot behind 'è sempre il più basso. ' Only the gods (Plato tells us) keepboth feet joined together in moving onward. It is not so, and cannot beso, with men. But I think that not only in relation to the socialists, but to themonarchies, is L. N. The choice of the French people. I think that theywill not _bear_ the monarchies, they will not have either of them, theyput them away. It seems to me that the French people is essentiallydemocratical, and that by the vote in question they never meant to giveaway either rights or liberties. The extraordinary part of the actualposition is that the Government, with these ugly signs of despotism inits face, stands upon the democracy (is no 'military despotism, 'therefore, in any sense, as the English choose to say), and may bethrown, and will be thrown, on that day when it disappoints the popularexpectation. For my part, I am hopeful both for this reason and forothers. I hope we shall do better, when there is greater calm; thatpresently there will be relaxation where there is stringency, and roomto breathe and speak. At present it is a dictatorship, and we can'texpect at such a time the ease and liberty of a regular government. Theconstitution itself may be modified, as the very terms of it imply, andthe laws of the Press not carried out. Even as it is, all the Englishpapers, infamous in their abuse of the Government (because of theirfalsifications and exaggerations properly called infamous) and highlyimmoral in their tone towards France generally, come in as usual, without an official finger being lifted up to hinder them. LouisPhilippe would not admit Punch, you remember, on account of a fewpersonal sarcasms.... So much there is to say, and the post going. Can you read as I write onat a full gallop? Don't be out of heart. Do let us trust France--not L. Napoleon, but _France_.... Dearest friends, think of me as your Ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ [Paris], 138 Avenue des Ch. -Elysées:April 7, 1852. What a time seems to have passed since I wrote to you, my ever lovedfriend! Again and again I have been on the point of writing, andsomething has stopped me always. I have wished to wait till I had moreabout this and that to gossip of, and so the time went on. Now I amgetting impatient to have news of you, and to learn whether the lovelyspring has brought you any good yet as to health and strength. Don'ttake vengeance on my silence, but write, write.... Yes, I want to see Béranger, and so does Robert. George Sand we came toknow a great deal more of. I think Robert saw her six times. Once hemet her near the Tuileries, offered her his arm, and walked with her thewhole length of the gardens. She was not on that occasion looking aswell as usual, being a little too much 'endimanchée' in terrestriallavenders and supercelestial blues--not, in fact, dressed with theremarkable taste which he has seen in her at other times. Her usualcostume is both pretty and quiet, and the fashionable waistcoat andjacket (which are a spectacle in all the 'Ladies' Companions' of theday) make the only approach to masculine _wearings_ to be observed inher. She has great nicety and refinement in her personal ways, I think, and the cigarette is really a feminine weapon if properly understood. Ah, but I didn't see her smoke. I was unfortunate. I could only go withRobert three times to her house, and once she was out. He was reallyvery good and kind to let me go at all, after he found the sort ofsociety rampant around her. He didn't like it extremely, but, being theprince of husbands, he was lenient to my desires and yielded the point. She seems to live in the abomination of desolation, as far as regardssociety--crowds of ill-bred men who adore her _à genoux bas_, betwixt apuff of smoke and an ejection of saliva. Society of the ragged Reddiluted with the lower theatrical. She herself so different, so apart, as alone in her melancholy disdain! I was deeply interested in that poorwoman, I felt a profound compassion for her. I did not mind much theGreek in Greek costume who tutoyéd her, and kissed her, I believe, soRobert said; or the other vulgar man of the theatre who went down on hisknees and called her 'sublime. ' 'Caprice d'amitié, ' said she, with herquiet, gentle scorn. A noble woman under the mud, be certain. _I_ wouldkneel down to her, too, if she would leave it all, throw it off, and beherself as God made her. But she would not care for my kneeling; shedoes not care for me. Perhaps she doesn't care for anybody by thistime--who knows? She wrote one, or two, or three kind notes to me, andpromised to 'venir m'embrasser' before she left Paris; but she did notcome. We both tried hard to please her, and she told a friend of oursthat she 'liked us'; only we always felt that we couldn'tpenetrate--couldn't really _touch_ her--it was all vain. Her playfailed, though full of talent. It didn't draw, and was withdrawnaccordingly. I wish she would keep to her romances, in which her realpower lies. We have found out Jadin, Alexandre Dumas' friend and companion in the'_Speronare_. ' He showed Robert at his house poor Louis Philippe'sfamous 'umbrella, ' and the Duke of Orleans' uniform, and the cup fromwhich Napoleon took his coffee, which stood beside him as he signed theabdication. Then there was a picture of 'Milord' hanging up. I must goto see too. Said Robert: 'Then Alexandre Dumas doesn't write romancesalways?' (You know it was like a sudden spectacle of one of Leda'seggs. ) 'Indeed, ' replied Jadin, 'he wrote the true history of his owntravels, only, of course, seeing everything, like a poet, from his ownpoint of view. ' Alfred de Musset was to have been at M. Buloz's, whereRobert was a week ago, on purpose to meet him, but he was prevented insome way. His brother Paul de Musset, a very different person, was thereinstead--but we hope to have Alfred on another occasion. Do you know hispoems? He is not capable of large grasps, but he has poet's life andblood in him, I assure you. He is said to be at the feet of Rachel justnow, and a man may nearly as well be with a tigress in a cage. He beganwith the Princess Belgiojoso--followed George Sand--Rachel finishes, islikely to 'finish' in every sense. In the intervals, he plays at chess. There's the anatomy of a _man_! We are expecting a visit from Lamartine, who does a great deal of honourto both of us, it appears, in the way of appreciation, and is kindenough to propose to come. I will tell you all about it. But now tell _me_. Oh, I want so to hear how you are. Better, stronger, I hope and trust. How does the new house and garden look in the spring?Prettier and prettier, I dare say.... The dotation of the President is enormous certainly, and I wish for hisown sake it had been rather more moderate. Now I must end here. Posthour strikes. God bless you. Do love me as much as you can, always, and think how I am your everaffectionate BA. Our darling is well; thank God. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ [Paris]: 138 Avenue des Ch. -Elysées:April 12, Monday, 1852. Your letter was pleasant and not so pleasant, dearest Monna Nina; for itwas not so pleasant indeed to hear how ill you had been--and yet to belifted into the hope, or rather certainty, of seeing you next weekpleased us extremely of course, and the more that your note through LadyLyell had thrown us backward into a slough of despond and made mesceptical as to your coming here at all.... What a beautiful Paris it is! I walked out a little yesterday withRobert, and we both felt penetrated with the sentiment of southern lifeas we watched men, women, and children sitting out in the sun, takingwine and coffee, and enjoying their _fête_ day with good happy faces. The mixture of classes is to me one of the most delicious features ofthe South, and you have it here exactly as in Italy. The colouring too, the brightness, even the sun--oh, come and enjoy it all with us. We havehad a most splendid spring beginning with February. Still, I have beenout very seldom, being afraid of treacherous winds combined with burningsunshine, but I have enjoyed the weather in the house and by openingthe windows, and have been revived and strengthened much by it, andshall soon recover my summer power of walking, I dare say. What do youthink I did the other night? Went to the Vaudeville to see the 'Dame auxCamélias' on above the fiftieth night of the representation. I disagreewith the common outcry about its immorality. According to my view, it ismoral and human. But I never will go to see it again, for it almostbroke my heart and split my head. I had a headache afterwards fortwenty-four hours. Even Robert, who gives himself out for _blasé_ ondramatic matters, couldn't keep the tears from rolling down his cheeks. The exquisite acting, the too literal truth to nature everywhere, was_exasperating_--there was something profane in such familiar handling oflife and death. Art has no business with real graveclothes when shewants tragic drapery--has she? It was too much altogether like a bullfight. There's a caricature at the shop windows of the effect produced, the pit protecting itself with multitudinous umbrellas from the tears ofthe boxes. This play is by Alexandre Dumas _fils_--and is worthy by itstalent of Alexandre Dumas _père_. Only that once have I been in a Parisian theatre. I couldn't go even tosee 'Les Vacances de Pandolphe' when George Sand had the goodness tosend us tickets for the first night. She failed in it, I am sorry tosay--it did not 'draw, ' as the phrase is. Now she has left Paris, but islikely to return. I am sure it will do you great good to have change and liberty anddistraction in various ways. The '_anxiety_' you speak of--oh, I do hopeit does not relate to Gerardine. I always think of her when you seemanxious. I shall be very glad if, when you come, you should be inclined to giveyour attention, you with your honest and vigorous mind, to the facts ofthe political situation, not the facts as you hear them from theEnglish, or from our friend Madme Mohl, who confessed to me one daythat she liked exaggerations because she hated the President. She is aclever shrewd woman, but most eminently and on all subjects a woman; herpassions having her thoughts inside them, instead of her thoughts herpassions. That's the common distinction between women and men, is itnot? Robert, too, will tell you that he hates all Buonapartes, past, present, or to come, but then _he_ says _that_ in his self-willed, pettish way, as a manner of dismissing a subject he won't think about--and knowingvery well that he doesn't think about it, not mistaking a feeling for areason, not for a moment. There's the difference between women and men. Well, but you won't come here to knit your brows about politics, butrather to forget all sorts of anxieties and distresses, and be well andhappy, I do hope. You deserve a holiday after all that work. God blessyou, dear friend. Our united love goes to you and stays with you. Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Miss Mulock_ [Paris]: 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:April 27, [1852]. I am afraid you must think me--what can you have thought of me for notimmediately answering a letter which brought the tears both to my eyesand my husband's? I was going to write just _so_, but he said: 'No, donot write yet; wait till we get the book and then you can speak of itwith knowledge. ' And I waited. But the misfortune is that Messrs. Chapman & Hall waited too, and thatup to the present time 'The Head of the Family' has not arrived. Mr. Chapman is slow in finding what he calls his opportunities. Therefore I can't wait any more, no indeed. The voice which called'Dinah' in the garden--which was true, because certainly I did call fromFlorence with my whole heart to the writer of these verses[13] (howdeeply they moved me!)--will have seemed to you by this time as fabulousas the garden itself. And we had no garden at Florence, I must confessto you, only a terrace facing the grey wall of San Felice church, wherewe used to walk up and down on the moonlight nights. But San Felice wasalways a good saint to me, and when I had read and cried over thoseverses from the 'Athenæum' (my husband wrote them out for me at thereading room) and when I had vainly written to England to find out thepoet, and when I had all as vainly, on our visit to England last summer, inquired of this person and that person, it turns out after all that'Dinah' answers me. Do you not think I am glad? The beautiful verses touched me to the quick, so does your letter. Weshall be in London again perhaps in two months for a few weeks, and thenyou will let us see you, I hope, will you not? And, in the meanwhile, you will believe that we do not indeed think of you as a stranger. Ah, your dream flattered me in certain respects! Yet there was some truth init, as I have told you, even though you saw in the dreamlight more rosesthan were growing. Certainly Mr. Chapman will at last send me 'The Head of the Family, ' andthen I will write again of course. Dear Miss Mulock, may I write myself down now, because I _must_, Affectionately yours and gratefully, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ [Paris], 138 Avenue des Ch. -Elysées:May 9, [1852]. I began a long letter to you in the impulse left by yours upon me, andthen destroyed it by accident. That hindered me from writing as soon asI should have done, for indeed I am anxious to have other news of you, my dearest dear Miss Mitford, and to know, if possible, that you are alittle better.... Tell me everything. Why, you looked really well lastsummer; and I want to see you looking well this summer, for we shallprobably be in London in June--more's the pity, perhaps! The gladness Ihave in England is so leavened through and through with sadness that Iincline to do with it as one does with the black bread of the monks ofVallombrosa, only pretend to eat it and drop it slyly under the table. If it were not for some ties I would say 'Farewell, England, ' and neverset foot on it again. There's always an east wind for _me_ in England, whether the sun shines or not--the moral east wind which is colder thanany other. But how dull to go on talking of the weather: _Sia comevuole_, as we say in Italy. To-morrow is the great _fête_ of your Louis Napoleon, the distributionof the eagles. We have done our possible and impossible to get tickets, because I had taken strongly into my head to want to go, and becauseRobert, who didn't care for it himself, cared for it for me; but here'sthe eleventh hour and our prospects remain gloomy. We did not applysufficiently soon, I am afraid, and the name of the applicants has beenlegion. It will be a grand sight, and full of significances. Nevertheless, the empire won't come _so_; you will have to wait a littlefor the Empire. Who were your financial authorities who praised LouisNapoleon? and do the same approve of the late measure about the threeper cents. ? I am so absolutely _bête_ upon such subjects that I don'teven _pretend_ to be intelligent; but I heard yesterday from a directsource that Rothschild expressed a high admiration of the President'sfinancial ability. A friend of that master in Israel said it to ourfriend Lady Elgin. Commerce is reviving, money is pouring in, confidenceis being restored on all sides. Even the Press palpitates again--ah, butI wish it were a little freer of the corset. This Government is notafter my heart after all. I only tolerate what appear to me thenecessities of an exceptional situation. The masses are satisfied andhopeful, and the President stronger and stronger--not by the sword, mayit please the English Press, but by the democracy. I am delighted to see that the French Government has protested againstthe reactionary iniquities of the Tuscan Grand Duke, and every day Iexpect eagerly some helping hand to be stretched out to Rome. I havelooked for this from the very first, and certainly it is significantthat the Prince of Canino, the late President of the Roman Republic, should be in favour at the Elysée. Pio Nono's time is but short, Ifancy--that is, reforms will be forced upon him. When George Sand had audience with the President, he was very kind; didI tell you that? At the last he said: 'Vous verrez, vous serez contentede moi. ' To which she answered, 'Et vous, vous serez content de moi. ' Itwas repeated to me as to the great dishonour of Madame Sand, and as aproof that she could not resist the influence of power and was a badrepublican. I, on the contrary, thought the story quite honourable toboth parties. It was for the sake of her _rouge_ friends that sheapproached the President at all, and she has used the hand he stretchedout to her only on behalf of persons in prison and distress. The same, being delivered, call her gratefully a recreant. Victor Cousin and Villemain refuse to take the oath, and lose theirsituations in the Academy accordingly; but they retire on pensions, andit's their own fault of course. Michelet and Quinet should have anequivalent, I think, for what they have lost; they are worthy, as poets, orators, dreamers, speculative thinkers--as anything, in fact, butinstructors of youth. No, there is a brochure, or a little book somewhere, pretending to be amemoir of Balzac, but I have not seen it. Some time before his death hehad bought a country place, and there was a fruit tree in the garden--Ithink a walnut tree--about which he delighted himself in making variousfinancial calculations after the manner of César Birotteau. He built thehouse himself, and when it was finished there was just one defect--itwanted a staircase. They had to put in the staircase afterwards. Thepicture gallery, however, had been seen to from the first, and the greatwriter had chalked on the walls, 'Mon Raffaelle, ' 'Mon Corrège, ' 'MonTitien, ' 'Mon Léonard de Vinci, ' the pictures being yet unattained. Heis said to have been a little loth to spend money, and to have liked todine magnificently at the restaurant at the expense of his friends, forgetting to pay for his own share of the entertainment. For the rest, the 'idée fixe' of the man was to be rich one day, and he threw hissubtle imagination and vital poetry into pounds, shillings, and pencewith such force that he worked the base element into spiritualsplendours. Oh! to think of our having missed seeing that man. It ispainful. A little book is published of his 'thoughts and maxims, ' thesweepings of his desk I suppose; broken notes, probably, which wouldhave been wrought up into some noble works, if he had lived. Some ofthese are very striking. Lamartine has not yet paid us the promised visit. Just as we werebeginning to feel vexed we heard that the intermediate friend who was tohave brought him had been caught up by the Government and sent off toSaint-Germain to 'faire le mort, ' on pain of being sent farther. I meanEugène Belleton. If he talked in many places as he talked in this room, I can't be very much surprised, but I am really very sorry. He is one ofthose amiable domestic men who delight in talking 'battle, murder, andsudden death. ' [_The end of this letter is wanting_] * * * * * _To Miss Mulock_ [Paris], 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:June 2, [1852]. My husband went directly to Rue Vivienne and came back without the book. We waited and waited, but at last it reached us, and we have read it, and since then I have let some days go by through having been unwell. You seemed to let me sit still in my chair and do nothing; you did notcall too loud. So was it with most other things in the universe. Now, having awakened from my somnolency, recovered from 'La Grippe' (or whatmortal Londoners call the influenza), the first person and first book Ithink of must naturally be you and yours. So I thank you much, much, for the book. It has interested me, dear MissMulock, as a book should, and I am delighted to recognise everywhereundeniable talent and faculty, combined with high and pure aspiration. Aclever book, a graceful book, and with the moral grace besides--thankyou. Many must have thanked you as well as myself. At the same time, precisely because I feel particularly obliged to you, I mean to tell you the truth. Your hero is heroic from his own point ofview--accepting his own view of the situation, which I, for one, cannotaccept, do you know, for I am of opinion that both you and he are ratherconventional on the subject of his marriage. I don't in the leastunderstand, at this moment, why he should not have married in the firstvolume; no, not in the least. It was a matter of income, he would tellme, and of keeping two establishments; and I would answer that it oughtrather to have been a matter of faith in God and in the value of God'sgifts, the greatest of which is love. I am romantic about love--oh, muchmore than you are, though older than you. A man's life does not developrightly without it, and what is called an 'improvident marriage' oftenappears to me a noble, righteous, and prudent act. Your Ninian was a manbefore he was a brother. I hold that he had no right to sacrifice agreat spiritual good of his own to the worldly good of his family, however he made it out. He should have said: 'God gives me this gift, Hewill find me energy to work for it and suffer for it. We will all livetogether, struggle together if it is necessary, a little more poorly, alittle more laboriously, but keeping true to the best aims of life, allof us. ' That's what _my_ Ninian would have said. I don't like to see nobleNinians crushed flat under family Juggernauts, from whatever heroicmotives--not I. Do you forgive me for being so candid? I must tell you that Mrs. Jameson, who is staying in this house, readyour book in England and mentioned it to me as a good book, 'verygracefully written, ' before I read it, quite irrespectively, too, of mydedication, which was absent from the copy she saw at Brighton. It wasmentioned as one of the novels which had pleased her most lately. I shall like to show you my child, as you like children, and as I amvain--oh, past endurance vain, about him. You won't understand a word hesays, though, for he speaks three languages at once, and most of thesyllables of each wrong side foremost. No, don't call me a Bonapartist. I am not a Bonapartist indeed. But I ama Democrat and singularly (in these days) consequent about universalsuffrage. Also, facts in England have been much mis-stated; but there'sno room for politics to-day. When I thank you, remember that my husband thanks you. We both hope tosee you before this month shall be quite at an end, and then you willknow me better, I hope; and though I shall lose a great deal by yourknowing me, of course, yet you won't, _after that_, make such mistakesas you 'confess' in this note which I have just read over again. Did Ithink you 'sentimental'? Won't you rather think _me_ sentimental to-day?Through it all, Your affectionateELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ [Paris], 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysées:June 16, [1852]. My first word must be to thank you, my dearest kind friend, for youraffectionate words to me and mine, which always, from you, sink deeply. It was, on my part, great gratification to see you and talk to you andhear you talk, and, above all, perhaps, to feel that you loved me stilla little. May God bless you both! And may we meet again and again inParis and elsewhere; in London this summer to begin with! As theItalians would say in relation to any like pleasure: 'Sarebbe una_benedizione_. ' We are waiting for the English weather to be reported endurable in orderto set out. Mrs. Streatfield, who has been in England these twelve days, writes to certify that it is past the force of a Parisian imagination toimagine the state of the skies and the atmosphere; yet, even in Paris, we have been moaning the last four days, because really, since then, wehave gone back to April, and a rather cool April, with alternate showersand sunshine--a crisis, however, which does not call for fires, norinflict much harm on me. It was the thunder, we think, that upset thesummer. You seem to have had a sort of inkling about my brittleness when youwere here. It was the beginning of a bad attack of cough and pain in theside, the consequence of which was that I turned suddenly into thelikeness of a ghost and frightened Robert from his design of going toEngland. About that I am by no means regretful; he was not wanted, asthe event proved abundantly. The worst was that he was annoyed by thenumber of judicious observers and miserable comforters who told him Iwas horribly changed and ought to be taken back to Italy forthwith. Iknew it was nothing but an accidental attack, and that the results wouldpass away, as they did. I kept quiet, applied mustard poultices, and amnow looking again (tell dear Mr. Martin) 'as if I had shammed. ' So allthese misfortunes are strictly historical, you are to understand. To-night we are going to Ary Scheffer's to hear music and to see ever somany celebrities. Oh, and let me remember to tell you that M. Thierry, the blind historian, has sent us a message by his physician to ask us togo to see him, and as a matter of course we go. Madame Viardot, theprima donna, and Leonard, the first violin player at the Conservatoire, are to be at M. Scheffer's. After all, you are too right. The less amused I am, clearly the betterfor me. I should live ever so many years more by being shut up in ahermitage, if it were warm and dry. More's the pity, when one wants tosee and hear as I do. The only sort of excitement and fatigue which doesme no harm, but good, is _travelling_. The effect of the continualchange of air is to pour in oil as the lamp burns; so I explain theextraordinary manner in which I bear the fatigue of beingfour-and-twenty hours together in a diligence, for instance, which manystrong women would feel too much for them. All this talking of myself when I want to talk of you and to tell youhow touched I was by the praises of your winning little Letitia!Enclosed is a note to Chapman & Hall which will put her 'bearer' (if shecan find one in London) in possession of the two volumes in question. Ishall like her to have them, and she must try to find my love, as theKing of France did the poison (a 'most unsavoury simile, ' certainly), between the leaves. I send with them, in any case, my best love. Ah, sosorry I am that she has suffered from the weather you have had. She is amost interesting child, and of a nature which is rare.... Robert's warm regards, with those of your Ever affectionate and gratefulBA. Madame Viardot is George Sand's heroine Consuelo. You know thatbeautiful book. * * * * * With the last days of June the long stay in Paris came to an end, andthe Brownings paid their second visit to London. Their residence on thisoccasion was at 58 Welbeck Street ('very respectable rooms this time, and at a moderate price'), and here they stayed until the beginning ofNovember. Neither husband nor wife seems to have written much poetryduring this year, either in Paris or in London. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ [London], 58 Welbeck Street: Saturday, [June-July 1852]. ... We saw your book in Paris, the Galignani edition, and I read it allexcept the one thing I had not courage to read. Thank you, thank you. Weare both of us grateful to you for your most generous and heartwarmintentions to us. As to the book, it's a book made to go east and west;it's a popular book with flowers from the 'village' laid freshly andbrightly between the critical leaves. I don't always agree with you. Ithink, for instance, that Mary Anne Browne should never be compared toGeorge Sand in 'passion, ' and I can't grant to you that your extractsfrom her poems bear you out to even one fiftieth degree in such anopinion. I agree with you just as little with regard to Dr. Holmes andcertain others. But to _have_ your opinion is always a delightful thing, and 'it is characteristic of your generosity, ' to say the least, we sayto ourselves when we are 'dissidents' most. I am writing in the extremest haste, just a word to announce our arrivalin England. We are in very comfortable rooms in 58 Welbeck Street, andmy sister Henrietta is some twenty doors away. To-morrow Robert and Iare going to Wimbledon for a day to dear Mr. Kenyon, who looks radiantlywell and has Mr. Landor for a companion just now. Imagine the uproar andturmoil of our first days in London, and believe that I think of youfaithfully and tenderly through all. I am overjoyed to see my sisters, who look well on the whole ... And they and everybody assure me that Ishow a very satisfactory face to my country, as far as improved looksgo. What nonsense one writes when one has but a moment to write in. I findpeople talking about the 'facts in the "Times"' touching Louis Napoleon. Facts in the 'Times'! The heat is _stifling_. Do send one word to say how you are, and love mealways as I love you. Your most affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ 58 Welbeck Street: Friday, July 31, 1852 [postmark]. I want to hear about you again, dear, dearest Miss Mitford, and I can'thear. Will you send me a line or a word.... I mean to go down to see youone day, but certainly we must account it right not to tire you whileyou are weak, and not to spoil our enjoyment by forestalling it. Twomonths are full of days; we can afford to wait. Meantime let us have alittle gossip such as the gods allow of. Dear Mr. Kenyon has not yet gone to Scotland, though his intentionsstill stand north. He passed an evening with us some evenings ago, andwas brilliant and charming (the two things together), and good andaffectionate at the same time. Mr. Landor was staying with him (perhapsI told you that), and went away into Worcestershire, assuring me, whenhe took leave of me, that he would never enter London again. A weekpasses, and lo! Mr. Kenyon expects him again. Resolutions are not alwaysirrevocable, you observe. I must tell you what Landor said about Louis Napoleon. You are awarethat he loathed the first Napoleon and that he hates the French nation;also, he detests the present state of French affairs, and has foamedover in the 'Examiner' 'in prose and rhyme' on the subject of them. Nevertheless, he who calls 'the Emperor' 'an infernal fool' expresseshimself to this effect about the President: 'I always knew him to be aman of wonderful genius. I knew him intimately, and I was persuaded ofwhat was in him. When people have said to me, "How can you like to wasteyour time with so trifling a man?" I have answered: "If all your Housesof Parliament, putting their heads together, could make a head equal tothis trifling man's head it would be well for England. " It was quite unexpected to me to hear Mr. Landor talk so. He, Mr. Landor, is looking as young as ever, as full of life andpassionate energy. Did Mr. Horne write to you before he went to Australia? Did I speak toyou about his going? Did you see the letter which he put into the papersas a farewell to England? I think of it all sadly. Mazzini came to see us the other day, with that pale spiritual face ofhis, and those intense eyes full of melancholy illusions. I wasthinking, while he sate there, on what Italian turf he would lie at lastwith a bullet in his heart, or perhaps with a knife in his back, for toone of those ends it will surely come. Mrs. Carlyle came with him. Sheis a great favorite of mine: full of thought, and feeling, andcharacter, it seems to me. London is emptying itself, and the relief will be great in a certainway; for one gets exhausted sometimes. Let me remember whom I have seen. Mrs. Newton Crosland, who spoke of you very warmly; Miss Mulock, whowrote 'The Ogilvies' (that series of novels), and is interesting, gentle, and young, and seems to have worked half her life in spite ofyouth; Mr. Field we have not seen, only heard of; Miss ----, no--but Iam to see her, I understand, and that she is an American Corinna inyellow silk, but pretty. We drove out to Kensington with Monckton Milnesand his wife, and I like her; she is quiet and kind, and seems to haveaccomplishments, and we are to meet Fanny Kemble at the Procters someday next week. Many good faces, but the best wanting. Ah, I wish LordStanhope, who shows the spirits of the sun in a crystal ball, could showus _that_! Have you heard of the crystal ball?[14] We went to meet itand the seer the other morning, with sundry of the believers andunbelievers--among the latter, chief among the latter, Mr. Chorley, whowas highly indignant and greatly scandalised, particularly on account ofthe combination sought to be established by the lady of the housebetween lobster salad and Oremus, spirit of the sun. For my part, Iendured both luncheon and spiritual phenomena with great equanimity. Itwas very curious altogether to my mind, as a sign of the times, if in noother respect of philosophy. But I love the marvellous. Write a word tome, I beseech you, and love me and think of me, as I love and think ofyou. God bless you. Robert's love. Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ 58 Welbeck Street: Tuesday, [July-October 1852]. Dearest Monna Nina, --Here are the verses. I did them all because thatwas easiest to me, but of course you will extract the two you want. It has struck me besides that you might care to see this old balladwhich I find among my papers from one of the Percy or other antiquarianSociety books, and which I transcribed years ago, modernising slightlyin order to make out some sort of rhythm as I went on. I did thisbecause the original poem impressed me deeply with its pathos. I wish Icould send you the antique literal poem, but I haven't it, nor knowwhere to find it; still, I don't think I quite spoilt it with the veryslight changes ventured by me in the transcription. God bless you. Let us meet on Wednesday. Robert's best love, with thatof your ever affectionate BA. STABAT MATER Mother full of lamentation, Near that cross she wept her passion, Whereon hung her child and Lord. Through her spirit worn and wailing, Tortured by the stroke and failing, Passed and pierced the prophet's sword. Oh, sad, sore, above all other, Was that ever blessed mother Of the sole-begotten one; She who mourned and moaned and trembled While she measured, nor dissembled, Such despairs of such a son! Where's the man could hold from weeping, If Christ's mother he saw keeping Watch with mother-heart undone? Who could hold from grief, to view her, Tender mother true and pure, Agonising with her Son? For her people's sins she saw Him Down the bitter deep withdraw Him 'Neath the scourge and through the dole! Her sweet Son she contemplated Nailed to death, and desolated, While He breathed away His soul. E. B. B. BALLAD--_Beginning of Edward II. 's Reign_ 'Stand up, mother, under cross, Smile to help thy Son at loss. Blythe, O mother, try to be!' 'Son, how can I blythely stand, Seeing here Thy foot and hand Nailèd to the cruel tree?' 'Mother, cease thy weeping blind. I die here for all mankind, Not for guilt that I have done. ' 'Son, I feel Thy deathly smart. The sword pierces through my heart, Prophesied by Simeon. ' 'Mother, mercy! let me die, Adam out of hell to buy, And his kin who are accurst. ' 'Son, what use have I for breath? Sorrow wasteth me to death-- Let my dying come the first. ' 'Mother, pity on thy Son! Bloody tears be running down Worse to bear than death to meet!' 'Son, how can I cease from weeping? Bloody streams I see a-creeping From Thine heart against my feet. ' 'Mother, now I tell thee, I! Better is it one should die Than all men to hell should go. ' 'Son, I see Thy body hang Foot and hand in piercèd pang. Who can wonder at my woe?' 'Mother, now I will thee tell, If I live, thou goest to hell-- I must die here for thy sake. ' 'Son, Thou art so mild and kind, Nature, knowledge have enjoined I, for Thee, this wail must make. ' 'Mother, ponder now this thing: Sorrow childbirth still must bring, Sorrow 'tis to have a son!' 'Ay, still sorrow, I can tell! Mete it by the pain of hell, Since more sorrow can be none. ' 'Mother, pity mother's care! Now as mother dost thou fare, Though of maids the purest known. ' 'Son, Thou help at every need All those who before me plead-- Maid, wife--woman, everyone. ' 'Mother, here I cannot dwell. Time is that I pass to hell, And the third day rise again. ' 'Son, I would depart with Thee. Lo! Thy wounds are slaying me. Death has no such sorrow--none. ' When He rose, then fell her sorrow. Sprang her bliss on the third morrow. A blythe mother wert thou so! Lady, for that selfsame bliss, Pray thy Son who peerless is, Be our shield against our foe. Blessed be thou, full of bliss! Let us not heaven's safety miss, Never! through thy sweet Son's might. Jesus, for that selfsame blood Which Thou sheddest upon rood, Bring us to the heavenly light. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ 58 Welbeck Street: Thursday, [September 2, 1852]. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --Your letters always make me glad to see them, but this time the pleasure was tempered by an undeniable pain in theconscience. Oh, I ought to have written long and long ago. I haveanother letter of yours unanswered. Also, there was a proposition in itto Robert of a tempting character, and he put off the 'no'--theungracious-sounding 'no'--as long as he could. He would have liked tohave seen Mrs. Flood, as well as you; she is a favorite with us both. But he finds it impossible to leave London. We have had no less thaneight invitations into the country, and we are forced to keep to London, in spite of all 'babbling about' and from 'green fields. ' Once we wentto Farnham, and spent two days with Mr. And Mrs. Paine there in thatlovely heathy country, and met Mr. Kingsley, the 'Christian Socialist, 'author of 'Alton Locke, ' 'Yeast, ' &c. It is only two hours from town (orless) by railroad, and we took our child with us and Flush, and had abreath of fresh air which ought to have done us good, but didn't. Fewmen have impressed me more agreeably than Mr. Kingsley. He is originaland earnest, and full of a genial and almost tender kindliness which isdelightful to me. Wild and theoretical in many ways he is of course, butI believe he could not be otherwise than good and noble, let him say ordream what he will. You are not to confound this visit of ours toFarnham with the 'sanitary reform' picnic (!) to the same place, atwhich the newspapers say we were present. We were _invited_--that istrue--but did not go, nor thought of it. I am not up to picnics--nor_down_ to some of the company perhaps; who knows? Don't think me grown, too, suddenly scornful, without being sure of the particulars.... Mr. Tennyson has a little son, and wrote me such three happy notes onthe occasion that I really never liked him so well before. I do like menwho are not ashamed to be happy beside a cradle. Monckton Milnes had abrilliant christening luncheon, and his baby was made to sweep in Indiamuslin and Brussels lace among a very large circle of admiring guests. Think of my vanity turning my head completely and admitting of my takingWiedeman there (because of an express invitation). He behaved like anangel, everybody said, and looked very pretty, I said myself; only hedisgraced us all at last by refusing to kiss the baby, on the ground ofhis being 'troppo grande. ' He has learnt quantities of English words, and is in consequence more unintelligible than ever. Poor darling! I amin pain about him to-day. Wilson goes to spend a fortnight with hermother, and I don't know how I shall be comforter enough. There will begreat wailing and gnashing of teeth certainly, and I shall be in prisonfor the next two weeks, and have to do all the washing and dressingmyself.... Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ 58 Welbeck Street:Saturday, September 14, 1852 [postmark]. My dearest Miss Mitford, --I am tied and bound beyond redemption for thenext fortnight at least, therefore the hope of seeing you must be for_afterwards_. I dare say you think that a child can be stowed away likeother goods; but I do assure you that my child, though quite capable ofbeing amused by his aunts for a certain number of half-hours, wouldbreak his little heart if I left him for a whole day while he had notWilson. When she is here, he is contented. In her absence he issceptical about happiness, and suspicious of complete desolation. Everynow and then he says to me, 'Will mama' (saying it in his pretty, broken, unquotable language) 'go away and leave Peninni all alone?' Hewon't let a human being touch him. I wash and dress him, and have him tosleep with me, and Robert is the only other helper he will allow of. 'There's spoiling of a child!' say you. But he is so good and tender andsensitive that we can't go beyond a certain line. For instance, I wasquite frightened about the effect of Wilson's leaving him. We managed toprepare him as well as we could, and when he found she was actuallygone, the passion of grief I had feared was just escaped. He struggledwith himself, the eyes full of tears, and the lips quivering, but therewas not any screaming and crying such as made me cry last year on a likeoccasion. He had made up his mind. You see I can't go to you just now, whatever temptations you hold out. Wait--oh, we must wait. And whenever I do go to you, you will see Robertat the same time. He will like to see _you_; and besides, he would assoon trust me to travel to Reading alone as I trust Peninni to be alonehere. I believe he thinks I should drop off my head and leave it underthe seat of the rail-carriage if he didn't take care of it.... I ought to have told you that Mr. Kingsley (one of the reasons why Iliked him) spoke warmly and admiringly of you. Yes, I ought to have toldyou that--his praise is worth having. Of course I have heard much of Mr. Harness from Mr. Kenyon and you, as well as from my own husband. Butthere is no use in measuring temptations; I am a female St. Anthony, and_won't_ be overcome. The Talfourds wanted me to dine with them onMonday. Robert goes alone. You don't mention Mr. Chorley. Didn't he findhis way to you? Mr. Patmore told us that Tennyson was writing a poem on Arthur--_not_ anepic, a collection of poems, ballad and otherwise, united by thesubject, after the manner of 'In Memoriam, ' but in different measures. The work will be full of beauty, whatever it is, I don't doubt. I am reading more Dumas. He never flags. I _must_ see Dumas when I goagain to Paris, and it will be easy, as we know his friend Jadin. Did you read Mrs. Norton's last book--the novel, which seems to be somuch praised? Tell me what it is, in your mind.... I will write no more, that you may have the answer to my kindproposition as soon as possible. _After the fortnight. _ God bless you. Your ever affectionateE. B. B. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ 58 Welbeck Street: Tuesday, [September 1852]. Alas, no; I cannot go to you before the Saturday you name, nor for somedays after, dearest friend. It is simply impossible. Wilson has not comeback, nor will till the end of next week, and though I can get away frommy child for two or three hours at once during the daytime, for thewhole day I could not go. What would become of him, poor darling?... And I can't go to you this week, nor next week, probably. How vexatious!My comfort is that you seem to be better--much, much better--and thatyou have courage to think of the pony carriages and the Kingsleys of theearth. That man impressed me much, interested me much. The more you seeof him, the more you will like him, is my prophecy. He has a volume ofpoems, I hear, close upon publication, and Robert and I are lookingforward to it eagerly. Mr. Ruskin has been to see us (did I tell you that?)... We went toDenmark Hill yesterday by agreement, to see the Turners--which, by theway, are divine. I like Mr. Ruskin much, and so does Robert. Verygentle, yet earnest--refined and truthful. I like him very much. Wecount him among the valuable acquaintances made this year in England.... Mr. Kenyon has come back, and most other people are gone away; but he isworth more than most other people, so the advantage remains to thescale. I am delighted that you should have your dear friend Mr. Harnesswith you, and, for my own part, I do feel grateful to him for the goodhe has evidently done you. Oh, continue to be better! Don't overtireyourself--don't use improvidently the new strength. Remember the winter, and be wise; and let me see you, before it comes, looking as bright andwell as I thought you last year. God bless you always. Love your ever affectionateBA. Robert's love. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ London: Friday, [October 6, 1852]. My dearest Miss Mitford, --I am quite in pain to have to write a farewellto you after all. As soon as Wilson had returned--and she stayed awaymuch longer than last year--we found ourselves pushed to the edge of ourtime for remaining in England, and the accumulation of business to bedone before we could go pressed on us. I am almost mad with the amountof things to be done, as it is; but I should have put the visit to youat the head of them, and swept all the rest on one side for a day, if ithadn't been for the detestable weather, and my horrible cough whichcombines with it. When Wilson came back she found me coughing in my oldway, and it has been without intermission up to now, or rather waxingworse and worse. To have gone down to you and inflicted the noise of iton you would have simply made you nervous, while the risk to myselfwould have been very great indeed. Still, I have waited and waited, feeling it scarcely possible to write to you to say, 'I am not comingthis year. ' Ah, I am so very sorry and disappointed! I hoped againsthope for a break in the weather, and an improvement in myself; now wemust go, and there is no hope. For about a fortnight I have been aprisoner in the house. This climate won't let me live, there's thetruth. So we are going on Monday. We go to Paris for a week or two, andthen to Florence, and then to Rome, and then to Naples; but we shall beback next year, if God pleases, and then I shall seize an early summerday to run down straight to you and find you stronger, if God blesses meso far. Think of me and love me a little meanwhile. I shall do it byyou. And do, _do_--since there is no time to hear from you inLondon--send a fragment of a note to Arabel for me, that I may have itin Paris before we set out on our long Italian journey. Let me have thecomfort of knowing exactly how you are before we set out. As for me, Iexpect to be better on crossing the Channel. How people manage to liveand enjoy life in this fog and cold is inexplicable to me. I understandthe system of the American rapping spirits considerably better.... The Tennysons in their kindest words pressed us to be present at theirchild's christening, which took place last Tuesday, but I could not go;it was not possible. Robert went alone, therefore, and nursed the babyfor ten or twelve minutes, to its obvious contentment, he flattershimself. It was christened Hallam Tennyson. Mr. Hallam was thegodfather, and present in his vocation. That was touching, wasn't it? Ihear that the Laureate talks vehemently against the French President andthe French; but for the rest he is genial and good, and has been quiteaffectionate to us.... So I go without seeing you. Grieved I am. Love me to make amends. Robert's love goes with me. Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To John Kenyon_ [Paris, ] Hôtel de la Ville-l'Évêque, Rue Ville-l'Évêque:Thursday, [November 1852]. My dearest Mr. Kenyon, --I cannot do better to-day than keep my promiseto you about writing. We have done our business in Paris, but we lingerfrom the inglorious reason that we, experienced travellers as we are, actually left a desk behind us in Bentinck Street, and must get itbefore we go farther. Meanwhile, it's rather dangerous to let the charmof Paris work--the honey will be clogging our feet very soon, and makeit difficult to go away. What an attractive place this is, to be sure!How the sun shines, how the blue sky spreads, how the life lives, andhow kind the people are on all sides! If we were going anywhere but toItaly, and if I were a little less plainly mortal with this disagreeablecough of mine, I would gladly stay and see in the Empire with M. Proudhon in the tail of it, and sit as a watcher over whatever thingsshall be this year and next spring at Paris. As it is, we have been veryfortunate, as usual, in being present in a balcony on the boulevard, thebest place possible for seeing the grandest spectacle in the world, thereception of Louis Napoleon last Saturday. The day was brilliant, andthe sweep of sunshine over the streaming multitude, and all the militaryand civil pomp, made it difficult to distinguish between the light andlife. The sunshine seemed literally to push back the houses to make roomfor the crowd, and the wide boulevards looked wider than ever. If youhad cursed the sentiment of the day ever so, you would have had eyes forits picturesqueness, I think, so I wish you had been there to see. Louis Napoleon showed his usual tact and courage by riding on horsebackquite alone, at least ten paces between himself and his nearest escort, which of course had a striking effect, taking the French on their weakside, and startling even Miss Cushman (who had been murmuringdispleasure into my ear for an hour) into an exclamation of 'That'sfine, I must say. ' Little Wiedeman was in a state of ecstasy, and hasbeen recounting ever since how he called '"Vive Napoléon!" _molto moltoduro_, ' meaning _very loud_ (his Italian is not very much more correct, you know, than his other languages), and how Napoleon took off his hatto him directly. I don't see the English papers, but I conclude you areall furious. You must make up your minds to it nevertheless--the Empireis certain, and the feeling of all but unanimity (whatever the motive)throughout France obvious enough. Smooth down the lion's mane of the'Examiner, ' and hint that roaring over a desert is a vain thing. As toVictor Hugo's book, the very enemies of the present state of affairsobject to it that _he lies_ simply. There is not enough truth in it foran invective to rest on, still less for an argument. It's aninarticulate cry of a bird of prey, wild and strong irrational, and nota book at all. For my part I did wave my handkerchief for the newEmperor, but I bore the show very well, and said to myself, 'God blessthe people!' as the man who, to my apprehension, represents thedemocracy, went past. A very intelligent Frenchman, caught in the crowdand forced to grope his way slowly along, told me that the expression ofopinion everywhere was curiously the same, not a dissenting mutter didhe hear. Strange, strange, all this! For the drama of history we mustlook to France, for startling situations, for the 'points' which thrillyou to the bone.... May God bless you meantime! Take care of yourself for the sake of us allwho love you, none indeed more affectionately and gratefully than R. B. And E. B. B. FOOTNOTES: [1] The Holy Scriptures. [2] Miss Haworth was a friend of Mr. Browning from very early days, andwas commemorated by him in 'Sordello' under the name of 'Eyebright' (seeMrs. Orr's _Life_, p. 86). Her acquaintance with Mrs. Browning beganwith this visit to London, and ripened into a warm friendship. Onesubject of interest which they had in common was mesmerism, with theattendant mysteries of spiritualism and Swedenborgianism; and referencesto these are frequent in Mrs. Browning's letters to her. [3] So spelt in the earlier letters, but subsequently modified to'Penini. ' [4] Miss Mitford had lately moved into her new home at Swallowfield, about three miles from the old cottage at Three Mile Cross, commemoratedin 'Our Village. ' [5] The article was by M. Joseph Milsand, and led to the formation ofthe warm friendship between him and Mr. Browning which lasted until thedeath of the former in 1886. [6] The May edict restricted the franchise to electors who had residedthree years in the same district. In October Louis Napoleon proposed torepeal it, and the refusal of the Assembly no doubt strengthened hishold on the democracy. [7] The _coup d'état_ took place in the early morning of December 2. [8] The constitution of 1848. [9] The point was rather whether they had the _power_. [10] Miss Mitford's _Recollections of a Literary Life_ contained achapter relating to Robert and Elizabeth Browning, in which, with thebest intentions in the world, she told the story of the drowning ofEdward Barrett, and of the gloom cast by it on his sister's life. It wasthis revival of the greatest sorrow of her life that so upset Mrs. Browning. [11] No doubt M. Milsand was the writer in question. [12] The (forged) _Letters of Shelley_, to which Mr. Browning wrote anintroduction, dealing rather with Shelley in general than with theletters. [13] 'Lines to Elizabeth Barrett Browning on her Later Sonnets', printedin the _Athenæum_ for February 15, 1851. The allusion to the voice whichcalled 'Dinah' must refer to something in Miss Mulock's letter. Dinahwas Miss Mulock's Christian name. [14] In another letter, written about the same date to Mrs. Martin, Mrs. Browning says: 'Perhaps you never heard of the crystal ball. Theoriginal ball was bought by Lady Blessington from an "Egyptianmagician, " and resold at her sale. She never could understand the use ofit, but others have looked deeper, or with purer eyes, it is said; andnow there is an optician in London who makes and sells these balls, andspeaks of a "great demand, " though they are expensive. "Many persons, "said Lord Stanhope, "use the balls, without the moral courage to confessit. " No doubt they did. CHAPTER VIII 1852-55 The middle of November found the travellers back again in Florence, andit was nearly three years before they again quitted Italy. No doubt, after the excitement of the _coup d'état_ in Paris, and the subsequentmanoeuvres of Louis Napoleon, which culminated in this very month inhis exchanging the title of President for that of Emperor, Florence musthave seemed very quiet, if not dull. The political movement there wasdead; the Grand Duke, restored by Austrian bayonets, had abandoned allpretence at reform and constitutional progress. In Piedmont, Cavour hadjust been summoned to the head of the administration, but there were nosigns as yet of the use he was destined to make of his power. Ofpolitics, therefore, we hear little for the present. Nor is there much to note at this time in respect of literature. A newedition of Mrs. Browning's poems was called for in 1853; but beyond someminor revisions of detail it did not differ from the edition of 1850. Her husband's play, 'Colombe's Birthday, ' was produced at the HaymarketTheatre during April, with Miss Faucit (Lady Martin) in the principalpart; but the poet had no share in the production, and his literaryactivity must have been devoted to the composition of some of the finepoems which subsequently formed the two volumes of 'Men and Women, 'which appeared in 1855. Mrs. Browning had also embarked on her longestpoem, 'Aurora Leigh, ' and speaks of being happily and busily engaged inwork; but we hear little of it as yet in her correspondence. Her littleson and her Florentine friends and visitors form her principal subjects;and we also see the beginning of a topic which for the next few yearsoccupied a good deal of her attention--namely, Spiritualism. The temperament of Mrs. Browning had in it a decidedly mystical vein, which predisposed her to believe in any communication between our worldand that of the spirits. Hence when a number of people professed to havesuch communication, she was not merely ready to listen to their claims, but was by temperament inclined to accept them. The immense vogue whichspiritualism had during 'the fifties' tended to confirm her belief. Itwas easy to say that where there was so much smoke there must be fire. And what she believed, she believed strongly and with a perfectconviction that no other view could be right. Just as her faith in LouisNapoleon survived the _coup d'état_, and even Villafranca, so her beliefin communications with the spirit world was proof against any exposureof fraud on the part of the mediums. Not that she was guilty of theabsurdities which marked many of the devotees of spiritualism. She had agreat horror of submitting herself to mesmeric influences. Sherecognised that very many of the supposed revelations of the spiritswere trivial, perhaps false; but to the fact that communications didexist she adhered constantly. It is not of much interest now to discuss the ethics or the metaphysicsof the 'rapping spirits;' but the subject deserves more than a passingmention in the life of Mrs. Browning, because it has been said, andapparently with authority, that 'the only serious difference which everarose between Mr. Browning and his wife referred to the subject ofspiritualism. '[15] It is quite certain that Mr. Browning did not sharehis wife's belief in spiritualism; a reference to 'Sludge the Medium'is sufficient to establish his position in the matter. But it is easy tomake too much of the supposed 'difference. ' Certainly it has left notrace in Mrs. Browning's letters which are now extant. There is no signin them that the divergence of opinion produced the slightest discord inthe harmony of their life. No doubt Mr. Browning felt strongly as to thecharacter of some of the persons, whether mediums or their devotees, with whom his wife was brought into contact, and he may have relievedhis feelings by strong expressions of his opinion concerning them; butthere is no reason to lay stress on this as indicating any seriousdifference between himself and his wife. It has seemed necessary to say so much, lest it should be supposed thatany of the omissions, which have been made in order to reduce the bulkof the letters within reasonable limits, cover passages in which such adifference is spoken of. In no single instance is this the case. Theomissions have been made in the interests of the reader, not in order toaffect in any way the representation which the letters give of theirwriter's feelings and character. With this preface they may be left totell their own tale. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ Florence: November 14, 1852 [postmark]. My dearest Sarianna, --You can't think how pleased I am to find myself inFlorence again in our own house, everything looking exactly as if we hadleft it yesterday. Scarcely I can believe that we have gone away at all. But Robert has been perfectly demoralised by Paris, and thinks it all asdull as possible after the boulevards: 'no life, no variety. ' Oh, ofcourse it _is_ very dead in comparison! but it's a beautiful death, andwhat with the lovely climate, and the lovely associations, and the senseof repose, I could turn myself on my pillow and sleep on here to the endof my life; only be sure that I _shall do no such thing_. We are goingback to Paris; you will have us safe. Peninni had worked himself up to astate of complete agitation on entering Florence, through hearing somuch about it. First he kissed me and then Robert again and again, as ifhis little heart were full. '_Poor Florence_' said he while we passedthe bridge. Certainly there never was such a darling since the worldbegan.... I suffered extremely through our unfortunate election of theMont Cenis route (much more my own fault than Robert's), and wasextremely unwell at Genoa, to the extent of almost losing heart andhope, which is a most unusual case with me, but the change from Lyonshad been too sudden and severe. At Genoa the weather was so exquisite, so absolutely June weather, that at the end of a week's lying on thesofa, I had rallied again quite, only poor darling Robert was horriblyvexed and out of spirits all that time, as was natural. I feel myself, every now and then (and did then), like a weight round his neck, poordarling, though he does not account it so, for his part. Well, but itpassed, and we were able to walk about beautiful Genoa the last twodays, and visit Andrea Doria's palace and enjoy everything together. Then we came on by a night and day's diligence through a warm air, whichmade me better and better. By the way, Turin is nearly as cold asChambéry; you can't believe yourself to be in Italy. Susa, at the footof the Alps, is warmer. We were all delighted to hear the sound of ourdear Italian, and inclined to be charmed with everything; and Peninnifairly expressed the kind of generalisations we were given to, when heobserved philosophically, 'In Italy, pussytats don't never _scwatch_, mama. ' This was in reply to an objection I had made to a project of hisabout kissing the head of an enchanting pussy-cat who presented herselfin vision to him as we were dining at Turin.... God bless and preserveyou. We love you dearly, and talk of you continually--of both of you. Your most affectionate sister, BA. Best love to your father. --Peninni. * * * * * _To John Kenyon_ Casa Guidi: November 23, 1852. We flatter ourselves, dearest Mr. Kenyon, that as we think so much ofyou, you may be thinking a little of us, and will not be sorry--whoknows?--to have a few words from us. November 24. Just as I was writing, had written, that sentence yesterday, came theletter which contained your notelet. Thank you, thank you, dearestfriend, it is very pleasant to have such a sign from your hand acrossthe Alps of kindness and remembrance. As to my sins in the choice of theMont Cenis route, 'Bradshaw' was full of temptation, and the results tome have so entirely passed away now, that even the wholesome state ofrepentance is very faded in the colours. What chiefly remains is thesense of wonderful contrast between climate and climate when we foundourselves at Genoa and in June. I can't get rid of the astonishment ofit even now. At Turin I had to keep up a fire most of the night in mybedroom, and at Genoa, with all the windows and doors open, we weregasping for breath, languid with the heat, blue burning skies overhead, and not enough stirring air for refreshment. Nothing less, perhaps, would have restored me so soon, and it was delightful to be able duringour last two days of our ten days there to stand on Andrea Doria'sterrace, and look out on that beautiful bay with its sweep of marblepalaces. My 'unconquerable mind' even carried me halfway up thelighthouse for the sake of the 'view, ' only there I had to stopingloriously, and let Robert finish the course alone while I rested on abench: aspiration is not everything, either in literature orlighthouses, you know, let us be ever so 'insolvent. ' Well, and since we left Turin, everywhere in Italy we have found summer, summer--not a fire have we needed even in Florence. Such mornings, suchevenings, such walkings out in the dusk, such sunsets over the Arno!ah, Mr. Kenyon, you in England forget what life is in this out-of-doorfresh world, with your cloistral habits and necessities! I assure you Ican't help fancying that the winter is over and gone, the past looks socold and black in the warm light of the present. We have had some rain, but at night, and only thundery frank rains which made the next daywarmer, and I have all but lost my cough, and am feeling very well andvery happy. Oh, yes, it made me glad to see our poor darling Florence again; I dolove Florence when all's said against it, and when Robert (demoralisedby Paris) has said most strongly that the place is dead, and dull, andflat, which it is, I must confess, particularly to our eyes fresh fromthe palpitating life of the Parisian boulevards, where we could scarcelyfind our way to Prichard's for the crowd during our last fortnightthere. Poor Florence, so dead, as Robert says, and as we both feel, sotrodden flat in the dust of the vineyards by these mules of Austria andthese asses of the Papacy: good heavens! how long are these things toendure? I do love Florence, when all's said. The very calm, the verydying stillness is expressive and touching. And then our house, ourtables, our chairs, our carpets, everything looking rather better forour having been away! Overjoyed I was to feel myself _at home_ again!our Italians so pleased to see us, Wiedeman's nurse rushing in, kissingmy lips away almost, and seizing on the child, 'Dio mio, come è bellino!the tears pouring down her cheeks, not able to look, for emotion, at theshawl we had brought her from England. Poor Italians! who can helpcaring for them, and feeling for them in their utter prostration justnow? The unanimity of despair on all sides is an affecting thing, I canassure you. There is no mistake _here_, no possibility of mistake ordoubt as to the sentiment of the people towards the actual régime; andif your English newspapers earnestly want to sympathise with anoppressed people, let them speak a little for Tuscany. The most hopefulword we have heard uttered by the Italians is, 'Surely it cannot last. 'It is the hope of the agonising. But our 'carta di soggiorno' was sent to us duly. The government is notover learned in literature, oh no.... And only Robert has seen Mr. Powers yet, for he is in the crisis ofremoval to a new house and studio, a great improvement on the last, andan excellent sign of prosperity of course. He is to come to us someevening as soon as he can take breath. We have had visits from theattachés at the English embassy here, Mr. Wolf, and Mr. Lytton, [16] SirE. Bulwer Lytton's son, and I think we shall like the latter, who (areason for my particular sympathy) is inclined to various sorts ofspiritualism, and given to the magic arts. He told me yesterday thatseveral of the American rapping spirits are imported to Knebworth, tohis father's great satisfaction. A very young man, as you may suppose, the son is; refined and gentle in manners. Sir Henry Bulwer is absentfrom Florence just now. As to our house, it really looks better to my eyes than it used to look. Mr. Lytton wondered yesterday how we could think of leaving it, and sodo I, almost. The letting has answered well enough; that is, it has paidall expenses, leaving an advantage to us of a house during _six months_, at our choice to occupy ourselves or let again. Also it might have beenlet for a year (besides other offers), only our agent expecting us inSeptember, and mistaking our intentions generally, refused to do so. NowI will tell you what our plans are. We shall stay here till we can letour house. If we don't let it we shall continue to occupy it, and putoff Rome till the spring, but the probability is that we shall have anoffer before the end of December, which will be quite time enough for aRoman winter. In fact, I hear of a fever at Rome and another at Naples, and would rather, on every account, as far as I am concerned, stay alittle longer in Florence. I can be cautious, you see, upon some points, and Roman fevers frighten me for our little Wiedeman. As to your 'science' of 'turning the necessity of travelling into aluxury, ' my dearest cousin, do let me say that, like some of the occultsciences, it requires a good deal of gold to work out. Your too generouskindness enabled us to do what we couldn't certainly have done withoutit, but nothing would justify us, you know, in not considering thecheapest way of doing things notwithstanding. So Bradshaw, as I say, tempted us, and the sight of the short cut in the map (pure delusionthose maps are!) beguiled us, and we crossed the 'cold valley' and the'cold mountain' when we shouldn't have done either, and we have boughtexperience and paid for it. Never mind! experience is nearly alwaysworth its price. And I have nearly lost my cough, and Robert is dosingme indefatigably with cod's liver oil to do away with my thinness.... Robert's best love, with that of your most Gratefully affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ [Florence: winter 1852-3. ] [_The beginning of the letter is lost_] The state of things here in Tuscany is infamous and cruel. The oldserpent, the Pope, is wriggling his venom into the heart of allpossibilities of free thought and action. It is a dreadful state ofthings. Austria the hand, the papal power the brain! and no energy inthe victim for resistance--only for hatred. They do hate here, I am gladto say. But we linger at Florence in spite of all. It was delightful to findourselves in the old nest, still warm, of Casa Guidi, to sit in our ownchairs and sleep in our own beds; and here we shall stay as lateperhaps as March, if we don't re-let our house before. Then we go toRome and Naples. You can't think how we have caught up our ancienttraditions just where we left them, and relapsed into our formersoundless, stirless hermit life. Robert has not passed an evening fromhome since we came--just as if we had never known Paris. People comesometimes to have tea and talk with us, but that's all; a fewintelligent and interesting persons sometimes, such as Mr. Tennyson (thepoet's brother) and Mr. Lytton (the novelist's son) and Mr. Stuart, thelecturer on Shakespeare, whom once I named to you, I fancy. Mr. Tennysonmarried an Italian, and has four children. He has much of the atmospherepoetic about him, a dreamy, speculative, shy man, reminding us of hisbrother in certain respects; good and pure-minded. I like him. Young Mr. Lytton is very young, as you may suppose, with all sorts of highaspirations--and visionary enough to suit _me_, which is sayingmuch--and affectionate, with an apparent liking to us both, which isengaging to us, of course. We have seen the Trollopes once, the youngerones, but the elder Mrs. Trollope was visible neither at that time norsince.... I sit here reading Dumas' 'last, ' notwithstanding. Dumas is astonishing;he never _will_ write himself out; there's no dust on his shoes afterall this running; his last books are better than his first. Do your American friends write ever to you about the rapping spirits? Ihear and would hear much of them. It is said that at least fifteenthousand persons in America, of all classes and society, are _mediums_, as the term is. Most curious these phenomena. [_The end of the letter is lost_] * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ Casa Guidi, Florence: February [1853]. I had just heard of your accident from Arabel, my much loved friend, andwas on the point of writing to you when your letter came. To say that Iwas shocked and grieved to hear such news of you, is useless indeed; youwill feel how I have felt about it. May God bless and restore you, andmake me very thankful, as certainly I must be in such a case.... The comfort to me in your letter is the apparent good spirits you writein, and the cheerful, active intentions you have of work for the delightof us all. I clap my hands, and welcome the new volumes. Dearest friend, I do wish I had heard about the French poetry in Paris, for there Icould have got at books and answered some of your questions. The truthis, I don't know as much about French modern poetry as I ought to do inthe way of _métier_. The French essential poetry seems to me to flow outinto prose works, into their school of romances, and to be leastpoetical when dyked up into rhythm. Mdme. Valmore I never read, but sheis esteemed highly, I think, for a certain _naïveté_, and happysurprises in the thought and feeling, _des mots charmants_. I wanted toget her books in Paris, and missed them somehow; there was so much tothink of in Paris. Alfred de Musset's poems I read, collected in asingle volume; it is the only edition I ever met with. The French valuehim extremely for his _music_; and there is much in him otherwise toappreciate, I think; very beautiful things indeed. He is best to my mindwhen he is most lyrical, and when he says things in a breath. Hiselaborate poems are defective. One or two Spanish ballads of his seem tome perfect, really. He has great power in the introduction of familiarand conventional images without disturbing the ideal--a good power forthese days. The worst is that the moral atmosphere is _bad_, and that, though I am not, as you know, the very least bit of a prude (not enoughperhaps), some of his poems must be admitted to be most offensive. GetSt. Beuve's poems, they have much beauty in them you will grant at once. Then there is a Breton[17] poet whose name Robert and I have both of usbeen ungrateful enough to forget--we have turned our brains over andover and can't find the name anyhow--and who, indeed, deserves to beremembered, who writes some fresh and charmingly simple idyllic poems, one called, I think, 'Primel et Nola. ' By that clue you may hunt him outperhaps in the 'Revue des Deux Mondes. ' There's no strong imagination, understand--nothing of that sort! but you have a sweet, fresh, coolsylvan feeling with him, rare among Frenchmen of his class. Edgar Quinethas more positive genius. He is a man of grand, extravagant conceptions. Do you know the 'Ahasuerus'? I wonder if the Empress pleases you as well as the Emperor. For my part, I approve altogether, and none the less that he has offended Austria bythe mode of announcement. Every cut of the whip in the face of Austriais an especial compliment to me--or, _so I feel it_. Let him head thedemocracy and do his duty to the world, and use to the utmost his greatopportunities. Mr. Cobden and the Peace Society are pleasing meinfinitely just now in making head against the immorality (that's theword) of the English press. The tone taken up towards France is immoralin the highest degree, and the invasion cry would be idiotic if it werenot something worse. The Empress, I heard the other day from goodauthority, is 'charming and good at heart. ' She was educated 'at arespectable school at Bristol' (Miss Rogers's, Royal Crescent, Clifton), and is very 'English, ' which doesn't prevent her from shooting withpistols, leaping gates, driving 'four-in-hand, ' and upsetting thecarriage when the frolic requires it, as brave as a lion and as true asa dog. Her complexion is like marble, white, pale and pure; her hairlight, rather 'sandy, ' they say, and she powders it with gold dust foreffect; but there is less physical and more intellectual beauty than isgenerally attributed to her. She is a woman of 'very decided opinions. 'I like all that, don't you? and I liked her letter to the Préfet, aseverybody must. Ah, if the English press were in earnest in the cause ofliberty, there would be something to say for our poor trampled-downItaly--much to say, I mean. Under my eyes is a people really oppressed, really groaning its heart out. But these things are spoken of withmeasure. We are reading Lamartine and Proudhon on '48. We have plenty of Frenchbooks here; only the poets are to seek--the moderns. Do you catch sightof Moore in diary and letters? Robert, who has had glimpses of him, saysthe 'flunkeyism' is quite humiliating. It is strange that you have notheard more of the rapping spirits. They are worth hearing of were itonly in the point of view of the physiognomy of the times, as a sign ofhallucination and credulity, if not more. Fifteen thousand persons inall ranks of society, and all degrees of education, are said to be_mediums_, that is _seers_, or rather hearers and recipients, perhaps. Oh, I can't tell you all about it; but the details are most curious. Iunderstand that Dickens has caught a wandering spirit in London andshowed him up victoriously in 'Household Words' as neither more nor lessthan the 'cracking of toe joints;' but it is absurd to try to adapt suchan explanation to cases in general. You know I am rather a visionary, and inclined to knock round at all the doors of the present world to tryto get out, so that I listen with interest to every goblin story of thekind, and, indeed, I hear enough of them just now. We heard nothing, however, from the American Minister, Mr. Marsh, andhis wife, who have just come from Constantinople in consequence of thechange of Presidency, and who passed an evening with us a few days ago. She is pretty and interesting, a great invalid and almost blind, yet shehas lately been to Jerusalem, and insisted on being carried to the topof Mount Horeb. After which I certainly should have the courage toattempt the journey myself, if we had money enough. Going to the HolyLand has been a favorite dream of Robert's and mine ever since we weremarried, and some day you will wonder why I don't write, and hearsuddenly that I am lost in the desert. You will wonder, too, at ourwandering madness, by the way, more than at any rapping spirit extant;we have 'a spirit in our feet, ' as Shelley says in his lovely Easternsong--and our child is as bad as either of us. He says, 'I _tuite_ tiredof _Flolence_. I want to go to _Brome_, ' which is worse than either ofus. I never am tired of Florence. Robert has had an application fromMiss Faucit (now Mrs. Martin) to bring out his 'Colombe's Birthday' atthe Haymarket. [_The remainder of this letter is missing_] * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ Florence: March 3, 1853. My dearest Isa, ... You have seen in the papers that Sir Edward LyttonBulwer has had an accident in the arm, which keeps him away from theHouse of Commons, and even from the Haymarket, where they are acting hisplay ('Not so bad as we seem') with some success. Well, here is acurious thing about it. Mr. Lytton told us some time ago, that, byseveral clairvoyantes, without knowledge or connection with one another, an impending accident had been announced to him, 'not fatal, butserious. ' Mr. Lytton said, 'I have been very uneasy about it, andnervous as every letter arrived, but nearly three months having passed, I began to think they must have made a mistake--only it is curious thatthey all should _all_ make a mistake of the same kind precisely. ' Whenafter this we saw the accident in the paper, it was effective, as youmay suppose! Profane or not, I am resolved on getting as near to a solution of thespirit question as I can, and I don't believe in the least risk ofprofanity, seeing that whatever is, must be permitted; and that thecontemplation of whatever is, must be permitted also, where theintentions are pure and reverent. I can discern no more danger inpsychology than in mineralogy, only intensely a greater interest. As tothe spirits, I care less about what they are capable of communicating, than of the fact of there being communications. I certainly wouldn't setabout building a system of theology out of their oracles. God forbid. They seem abundantly foolish, one must admit. There is probably, however, a mixture of good spirits and bad, foolish and wise, of thelower orders perhaps, in both kinds.... Isa, you and I must try to make head against the strong-minded women, though really you half frighten me prospectively.... ---- ----, one of the strong-minded, we just escaped with life from inLondon, and again in Paris. In Rome she has us! What makes me talk soill-naturedly is the information I have since received, that she has puteverybody unfortunate enough to be caught, into a book, and publishedthem at full length, in American fashion. Now I do confess to thegreatest horror of being caught, stuck through with a pin, andbeautifully preserved with other butterflies and beetles, even in thealbum of a Corinna in yellow silk. I detest that particular sort ofvictimisation.... We are invited to go to Constantinople this summer, to visit theAmerican Minister there. There's a temptation for you! God bless you, dearest Isa. I shall be delighted to see you again, andso will Robert! I always feel (I say to him sometimes) that you love mea little, and that I may rest on you. Your ever affectionate friend, ELIZABETH B. BROWNING. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ Florence: March 15, [1853]. ... The spring has surprised us here just as we were beginning to murmurat the cold. Think of somebody advising me the other day not to send outmy child without a double-lined parasol! There's a precaution for March!The sun is powerful--we are rejoicing in our Italian climate. Oh, that Icould cut out just a mantle of it to wrap myself in, and so go and seeyou. Your house is dry, you say. Is the room you occupy airy as well aswarm? Because being confined to a small room, with you who are so usedto liberty and out of door life, must be depressing to the vitalenergies. Do you read much? No, no, you ought not to think of the press, of course, till you are strong. Ah--if you should get to London to seeour play, how glad I should be! We, too, talk of London, but somewhatmistily, and not so early in the summer. Mr. And Mrs. Marsh--he is theAmerican Minister at Constantinople--have been staying in Florence, andpassing some evenings with us. They tempt us with an invitation toConstantinople this summer, which would be irresistible if we had themoney for the voyage, perhaps, so perhaps it is as well that we havenot. Enough for us that we are going to Rome and to Naples, thennorthward. I am busy in the meanwhile with various things, a new poem, and revising for a third edition which is called for by the graciouspublic. Robert too is busy with another book. Then I am helping to makefrocks for my child, reading Proudhon (and Swedenborg) and in deepmeditation on the nature of the rapping spirits, upon whom, Iunderstand, a fellow dramatist of yours, Henry Spicer (I think you oncementioned him to me as such), has just written a book entitled, 'TheMystery of the Age. ' A happy winter it has been to me altogether. Wehave had so much repose, and at the same time so much interest in life, also I have been so well, that I shall be sorry when we go out ofharbour again with the spring breezes. We like Mr. Tennyson extremely, and he is a constant visitor of ours: the poet's elder brother. By theway, the new edition of the Ode on the Duke of Wellington seems tocontain wonderful strokes of improvement. Have you seen it? As toAlexandre Dumas, Fils, I hope it is not true that he is in any scrapefrom the cause you mention. He is very clever, and I have a feeling forhim for his father's sake as well as because he presents a rare instanceof intellectual heirship. Didn't I tell you of the prodigious success ofhis drama of the 'Dame aux Camélias, ' which ran about a hundred nightslast year, and is running again? how there were caricatures on theboulevards, showing the public of the pit holding up umbrellas toprotect themselves from the tears rained down by the public of theboxes? how the President of the Republic went to see, and sent abracelet to the first actress, and how the English newspapers called himimmoral for it? how I went to see, myself, and cried so that I was illfor two days and how my aunt called _me_ immoral for it? I was properlylectured, I assure you. She 'quite wondered how Mr. Browning could allowsuch a thing, ' not comprehending that Mr. Browning never, or scarcelyever, does think of restraining his wife from anything she much pleasesto do. The play was too painful, that was the worst of it, but Imaintain it is a highly moral play, rightly considered, and the actingwas most certainly most exquisite on the part of all the performers. Notthat Alexandre Dumas, Fils, excels generally in morals (in his books, Imean), but he is really a promising writer as to cleverness, and when hehas learnt a little more art he will take no low rank as a novelist. Robert has just been reading a tale of his called 'Diane de Lys, ' andthrows it down with--'You must read that, Ba--it is clever--onlyoutrageous as to the morals. ' Just what I should expect from AlexandreDumas, Fils. I have a tenderness for the whole family, you see. You don't say a word to me of Mrs. Beecher Stowe. How did her book[18]impress you? No woman ever had such a success, such a fame; no man everhad, in a single book. For my part I rejoice greatly in it. It is anindividual glory full of healthy influence and benediction to the world. [_The remainder of this letter is missing_] * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ Casa Guidi, Florence: March 17, [1853]. Thank you--how to thank you enough--for the too kind present of the'Madonna, '[19] dearest Mona Nina. I will not wait to read it through--wehave only _looked_ through it, which is different; but there is enoughseen so beautiful as to deserve the world's thanks, to say nothing ofours, and there are personal reasons besides why _we_ should thank you. Have you not quoted us, have you not sent us the book? Surely, goodreasons. But now, be still better to me, and write and say how you are. I want toknow that you are quite well; if you can tell me so, do. You have toldme of a new book, which is excellent news, and I hear from anotherquarter that it will consist of your 'Readings' and 'Remarks, ' a sort ofbook most likely to penetrate widely and be popular in a good sense. Would it not be well to bring out such a work volume by volume atintervals? Is it this you are contemplating?... Robert and I have had a very happy winter in Florence; let me, any way, answer for myself. I have been well, and we have been quiet andoccupied; reading books, doing work, playing with Wiedeman; and withnothing from without to vex us much. At the end of it all, we go toRome certainly; but we have taken on this apartment for another year, which Robert decided on to please me, and because it was reasonable onthe whole. We have been meditating Socialism and mysticism of veryvarious kinds, deep in Louis Blanc and Proudhon, deeper in the Germanspiritualists, added to which, I have by no means given up my Frenchnovels and my rapping spirits, of whom our American guests bring usrelays of witnesses. So we don't absolutely moulder here in theintellect, only Robert (and indeed I have too) has tender recollectionsof 'that blaze of life in Paris, ' and we both mean to go back to itpresently. No place like Paris for living in. Here, one sleeps, 'perchance to dream, ' and praises the pillow. We had a letter from our friend M. Milsand yesterday; you see he doesnot forget us--no, indeed. In speaking of the state of things in France, which I had asked him to do, he says, he is not sanguine (he never _is_sanguine, I must tell you, about anything), though entirely dissentientfrom _la presse Anglaise_. He considers on the whole that the _status_is as good as can be desired, as a _stable foundation for thedevelopment of future institutions_. It is in that point of view that heregards the situation. So do I. As to the English press, I, who am not'Anglomane' like our friend, I call it plainly either maniacal orimmoral, let it choose the epithet. The invasion cry, for instance, Ireally can't qualify it; I can't comprehend it with motives all good andfair. I throw it over to you to analyse. With regard to the sudden death of French literature, you all exaggeratethat like the rest. If you look into even the 'Revue des Deux Mondes'for the year 1852, you will see that a few books are still published. _Pazienza. _ Things will turn up better than you suppose. Newspapersbreathe heavily just now, that's undeniable; but for book literature thegovernment _never has_ touched it with a finger. I ascertained _that_ asa fact when I was in Paris. None of you in England understand what the crisis has been in France;and how critical measures have been necessary. Lamartine's work on therevolution of '48 is one of the best apologies for Louis Napoleon; and, if you want another, take Louis Blanc's work on the same. Isn't it a shame that nobody comes from the north to the south, after ahundred oaths? I hear nothing of dear Mr. Kenyon. I hear nothing fromyou of _your_ coming. You won't come, any of you.... I am much relieved by hearing that Mazzini is gone from Italy, whateverLord Malmesbury may say of it. Every day I expected to be told that hewas taken at Milan and shot. A noble man, though incompetent, I think, to his own aspiration; but a man who personally has my sympathiesalways. The state of things here is cruel, the people are one groan. Goddeliver us all, I must pray, and by almost any means. As to your Ministry, I don't expect very much from it. Lord Aberdeen, 'put on' to Lord John, is using the drag uphill. They will do just aslittle as they can, be certain. Think of my submitting at last to the conjugal will and cod's liveroil--yes, and think of its doing me good. The cough was nearly, if notquite, gone because of the climate, before I took the oil, but it doesme good by making me gain in flesh. I am much less thin, and very well, and dearest Robert triumphant. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ Florence: April 12, [1853]. The comfort is, my ever loved friend, that here is spring--summer, astranslated into Italy--if fine weather is to set you up again. I shallbe very thankful to have better news of you; to hear of your being outof that room and loosened into some happy condition of liberty. It seemsunnatural to think of you in one room. _That_ seems fitter for _me_, doesn't it? And the rooms in England are so low and small, that theyput double bars on one's captivity. May God bring you out with thechestnut trees and elms! It's very sad meanwhile. Comfort yourself, dear friend! Admire Louis Napoleon. He's anextraordinary man beyond all doubt; and that he has achieved great goodfor France, _I_ do not in the least doubt. I was only telling you that Ihad not finished my pedestal for him--wait a little. Because, you see, for my part, I don't go over to the system of 'mild despotisms, ' no, indeed. I am a democrat to the bone of me. It is simply as ademocratical ruler, and by grace of the people, that I accept him, andhe must justify himself by more deeds to his position before heglorifies himself before _me_. That's what I mean to say. A mild despotin France, let him be the Archangel Gabriel, unless he hold the kingdomin perpetuity, what is the consequence? A successor like the ArchangelLucifer, perhaps. Then, for the press, where there is thought, theremust be discussion or conspiracy. Are you aware of the amount of readersin France? Take away the 'Times' newspaper, and the blow falls on ahandful of readers, on a section of what may be called the aristocracy. But everybody reads in France. Every fiacre driver who waits for you ata shop door, beguiles the time with a newspaper. It is on that accountthat the influence of the press is dangerous, you will say. Preciselyso; but also, on that account too, it is necessary. No; I hold, myself, that he will give more breathing room to France, as circumstances admitof it. Else, there will be convulsion. You will see. We shall see. AndLouis Napoleon, who is wise, _foresees_, I cannot doubt. Not read Mrs. Stowe's book! But you _must_. Her book is quite a sign ofthe times and has otherwise and intrinsically considerable power. Formyself, I rejoice in the success, both as a woman and a human being. Oh, and is it possible that you think a woman has no business with questionslike the question of slavery? Then she had better use a pen no more. She had better subside into slavery and concubinage herself, I think, asin the times of old, shut herself up with the Penelopes in the 'women'sapartment, ' and take no rank among thinkers and speakers. Certainly youare not in earnest in these things. A difficult question--yes! Allvirtue is difficult. England found it difficult. France found itdifficult. But we did not make ourselves an arm-chair of our sins. Asfor America, I honor America in much; but I would not be an American forthe world while she wears that shameful scar upon her brow. The addressof the new President[20] exasperates me. Observe, I am an abolitionist, not to the fanatical degree, because I hold that compensation should begiven by the North to the South, as in England. The States should unitein buying off this national disgrace. The Americans are very kind and earnest, and I like them all the betterfor their warm feeling towards you. Is Longfellow agreeable in hispersonal relations? We knew his brother, I think I told you, in Paris. Isuppose Mr. Field has been liberal to Thackeray, and yet Thackeray doesnot except him in certain observations on American publishers. We shallhave an arrangement made of some sort, it appears. Mr. Forster wants meto add some new poems to my new edition, in order to secure thecopyright under the new law. But as the law does not act backwards, Idon't see how new poems would save me. They would just sweep out the newpoems--that's all. One or two lyrics could not be made an object, and inthose two thick volumes, nearly bursting with their present contents, there would not be room for many additions. No, I shall add nothing. Ihave revised the edition very carefully, and made everything better. Itvexed me to see how much there was to do. Positively, even rhymes leftunrhymed in 'Lady Geraldine's Courtship. ' You don't write so carelessly, not you, and the reward is that you haven't so much trouble in your neweditions. I see your book advertised in a stray number of the 'Athenæum'lent to me by Mr. Tennyson--Frederick. He lent it to me because I wantedto see the article on the new poet, Alexander Smith, who appears soapplauded everywhere. He has the poet's _stuff_ in him, one may see fromthe extracts. Do you know him? And Coventry Patmore--have you heardanything of _his_ book, [21] of which appears an advertisement? Ah, yes; how unfortunate that you should have parted with yourcopyrights! It's a bad plan always, except in the case of novels whichhave their day, and no day after. The poem I am about will fill a volume when done. It is the novel orromance I have been hankering after so long, written in blank verse, inthe autobiographical form; the heroine, an artist woman--not a painter, mind. It is intensely modern, crammed from the times (not the 'Times'newspaper) as far as my strength will allow. Perhaps you won't like it, perhaps you will. Who knows? who dares hope? I am beginning to be anxious about 'Colombe's Birthday. ' I care muchmore about it than Robert does. He says that nobody will mistake it for_his_ speculation, it's Mr. Buckstone's affair altogether. True; but Ishould like it to succeed, being Robert's play notwithstanding. But theplay is subtle and refined for pits and galleries. I am nervous aboutit. On the other hand, those theatrical people ought to know; and whatin the world made them select it if it is not likely to answer theirpurpose? By the way, a dreadful rumour reaches us of its having been'_prepared for the stage by the author_. ' Don't believe a word of it. Robert just said 'yes' when they wrote to ask him, and not a line ofcommunication has passed since. He has prepared nothing at all, suggested nothing, modified nothing. He referred them to his newedition; and that was the whole. We see a great deal of Mr. Tennyson. Robert is very fond of him, and soam I. He too writes poems, and prints them, though not for the public. They are better and stronger than Charles Tennyson's, and he has thepoetical temperament in everything. Did I tell you that he had marriedan Italian, and had children from twelve years old downwards? He isintensely English nevertheless, as expatriated Englishmen generally are. I always tell Robert that his patriotism grows and deepens in exactproportion as he goes away from England. As for me, it is not so withme. I am very cosmopolitan, and am considerably tired of theself-deification of the English nation at the expense of all others. Wehave some noble advantages over the rest of the world, but it is not alladvantage. The shameful details of bribery, for instance, prove what Ihave continually maintained, the non-representativeness of our'representative system;' and, socially speaking, we are much behindhandwith most foreign peoples. Let us be proud in the right place, I say, and not in the wrong. 'We see too a good deal of young Lytton, SirEdward's only son, an interesting young man, with various sorts of good, and aspiration to good, in him. You see we are not at Rome yet. Do writeto me. Speak of yourself particularly. God bless you, dearest friend. Believe that I think of you and love you most faithfully. BA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ Florence: April 21, 1853. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --I am in consternation and vexation on receivingyour letter. What you must have thought of me all this time! Of course Inever saw the letters which went to Rome. Letters sent to Posterestante, Rome, are generally lost, even if you are a Roman: and we areno Romans, alas! nor likely to become such, it seems to me. There's afatality about Rome to us. I waited for you to write, and then waited onfoolishly for the settlement of our own plans, after I had ascertainedthat you were not in Devonshire, but in France as usual. Now, I can'thelp writing, though I have written a letter already which must havecrossed yours--a long letter--so that you will have more than enough ofme this time. It's comfort and pleasure after all to have a good account of you both, my very dear friends, even though one knows by it that you have beensending one 'al diavolo' for weeks or months. Forgive me, do. I feelguilty somehow to the extreme degree, that four letters should have beenwritten to me, even though I received none of them, because I ought tohave written at least one letter in that time. Your politics would be my politics on most points; we should runtogether more than halfway, if we could stand side by side, in spite ofall your vindictiveness to N. III. My hero--say you? Well, I have morebelief in him than you have. And what is curious, and would beunaccountable, I suppose, to English politicians in general, the Italiandemocrats of the lower classes, the popular clubs in Florence, areclinging to him as their one hope. Ah, here's oppression! here's apeople trodden down! You should come here and see. It is enough to turnthe depths of the heart bitter. The will of the people forced, theirinstinctive affections despised, their liberty of thought spied into, their national life ignored altogether. Robert keeps saying, 'How long, O Lord, how long?' Such things cannot last, surely. Oh, this brutalAustria! I myself expect help from Louis Napoleon, though scarcely in the waythat the clubs are said to do. When I talk of a club, of course I mean asecret combination of men--young men who meet to read forbiddennewspapers and talk forbidden subjects. He won't help the Mazzinians, but he will do something for Italy, you will see. The Cardinals feelit, and that's why they won't let the Pope go to Paris. We shall see. Iseem to catch sight of the grey of dawn even in the French Governmentpapers, and am full of hope. As to Mazzini, he is a noble man and an unwise man. Unfortunately theepithets are compatible. Kossuth is neither very noble nor very wise. Ihave heard and _felt_ a great deal of harm of him. The truth is not inhim. And when a patriot lies like a Jesuit, what are we to say? For England--do you approve of the fleet staying on at Malta? We areprepared to do nothing which costs us a halfpenny for a less gain thanthree farthings--always excepting the glorious national defences, whichhave their end too, though not the one generally attributed.... God bless you, my dear, dear friends! Care in your thoughts for us all! Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To John Kenyon_ Casa Guidi: May 16 [1853]. My dearest Mr. Kenyon, --You are to be thanked and loved as ever, andwhat can we say more? This: Do be good to us by a supererogatory virtueand write to us. You can't know how pleasant it is to be _en rapport_with you, though by holding such a fringe of a garment as a scrap ofletter is. We don't see you, we don't hear you! 'Rap' to us with the endof your pen, like the benign spirit you are, and let me (who amcredulous) believe that you care for us and think kindly of us in themidst of your brilliant London gossipry, and that you don't disdain thetalk of us, dark ultramontanists as we are. You are good to us in somany ways, that it's a reason for being good in another way besides. Atleast, to reason so is one of the foolishnesses of my gratitude. On the whole, I am satisfied with regard to 'Colombe. ' I never expecteda theatrical success, properly and vulgarly so called; and the play hastaken rank, to judge by the various criticisms, in the right way, as atrue poet's work: the defects of the acting drama seemed recognised asthe qualities of the poem. It was impossible all that subtle tracery ofthought and feeling should be painted out clear red and ochre with ahouse-painter's brush, and lose nothing of its effect. [22] A play thatruns nowadays has generally four legs to run with--something of thebeast to keep it going. The human biped with the 'os divinior' is slowerthan a racehorse even. What I hope is, that the poetical appreciation of'Colombe' will give an impulse to the sale of the poems, which will bemore acceptable to us than the other kind of success.... Yes, dearest Mr. Kenyon, we mean, if we can, to go to Rome in theautumn. It is very wrong of you not to come too, and the reasons yougive against it are by no means conclusive. My opinion is that, whateverthe term of your natural life may be, you would probably have anadditional ten years fastened on to it by coming to the Continent, andso I tease you and tease you, as is natural to such an opinion. Peopletwirl now in their arm-chairs, and the vitality in them kindles as theyrush along. Remember how pleased you were when you were at Como! Don'tdraw a chalk circle round you and fancy you can't move. Even tables andchairs have taken to move lately, and hats spin round without a giddyhead in them. Is this a time to stand still, even in the garden atWimbledon? 'I speak to a wise man; judge what I say. ' We tried the table experiment in this room a few days since, by-the-bye, and failed; but we were impatient, and Robert was playingMephistopheles, as Mr. Lytton said, and there was little chance ofsuccess under the circumstances. It has been done several times inFlorence, and the fact of the possibility seems to have passed among'attested facts. ' There was a placard on the wall yesterday about apamphlet purporting to be an account of these and similar phenomena'scoperte a Livorno, ' referring to 'oggetti semoventi' and otherwonders. You can't even look at a wall without a touch of the subject. The _circoli_ at Florence are as revolutionary as ever, only tiltingover tables instead of States, alas! From the Legation to the Englishchemist's, people are 'serving tables' (in spite of the Apostle)everywhere. When people gather round a table it isn't to play whist. Sogood, you say. You can believe in table-moving, because _that_ may be'electricity;' but you can't believe in the 'rapping spirits, ' with thehistory of whom these movements are undeniably connected, because it's'a jump. ' Well, but you will jump when the time comes for jumping, andwhen the evidence is strong enough. I know you; you are strong enoughand true enough to jump at anything, without being afraid. The tablesjump, observe--and _you_ may jump. Meanwhile, if you were to hear whatwe heard only the evening before last from a cultivated woman withtruthful, tearful eyes, whose sister is a medium, and whose motherbelieves herself to be in daily communion with her eldest daughter, deadyears ago--if you were to hear what we hear from nearly all theAmericans who come to us, their personal experiences, irrespectively ofpaid mediums, I wonder if you would admit the possibility of your evenjumping! Robert, who won't believe, he says, till he sees and hears withhis own senses--Robert, who is a sceptic--observed of himself the otherday, that we had received as much evidence of these spirits as of theexistence of the town of Washington. But then of course he wouldadd--and you would, reasonably enough--that in a matter of this kind(where you have to jump) you require more evidence, double the evidence, to what you require for the existence of Washington. That's true. [_Incomplete_] * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ Florence: June [1853]. My dearest Fanny, --I hope you will write to me as if I deserved it. Yousee, my first word is to avert the consequences of my sin instead ofrepenting of it in the proper and effectual way. The truth is, that eversince I received your letter we have been looking out for 'messengers'from the Legation, so as to save you postage; while the Embassy peoplehave been regularly forgetting us whenever there has been anopportunity. By the way, I catch up that word of 'postage' to beg you_never to think of it_ when inclined in charity to write to us. If youknew what a sublunary thing--oh, far below any visible moon!--postage isto us exiles! Too glad we are to get a letter and pay for it. So writeto me _directly_, dear Fanny, when you think enough of us for that, andwrite at length, and tell us of yourself first, swirling off into Pope'scircles--'your country first and then the human race'--and, indeed, weget little news from home on the subjects which especially interest us. My sister sends me heaps of near things, but she is not in the magneticcircles, nor in the literary, nor even in the gossiping. Be good to us, _you_ who stand near the fountains of life! Every cup of cold water isworth a ducat here. To wait to a second page without thanking you for your kindness andsympathy about 'Colombe' does not do justice to the grateful sense I hadof both at the time, and have now. We were _very_ glad to have youropinion and impressions. Most of our friends took for granted that wehad supernatural communications on the subject, and did not send us aword. Mrs. Duncan Stewart was one of the kind exceptions (with yourselfand one or two more), and I write to thank her. It was very pleasant tohear what you said, dear Fanny. Certainly, says the author, you areright, and Helen Faucit wrong, in the particular reading you refer to;but she seems to have been right in so much, that we should onlyremember our grateful thoughts of her in general. Now what am I to say about my illustrations--that is, your illustrationsof my poems? To thank you again and again first. To be eager next to seewhat is done. To be sure it is good, and surer still that _you_ are goodfor spending your strength on me. See how it is. When you wrote to me, anew edition was in the press; yes, and I was expecting every day to hearit was out again. But it would not have done, I suppose, to have usedillustrations for that sort of edition; it would have raised the price(already too high) beyond the public. But there will be time always forsuch arrangements--when it so pleases Mr. Chapman, I suppose. Do tell memore of what you have done. We did not go to Rome last winter, in spite of the spirits of the sunwho declared from Lord Stanhope's crystal ball, you remember, that weshould. And we don't go to England till next summer, because we must seeRome next winter, and must lie _perdus_ in Italy meantime. I have had ahappy winter in Florence, recovered my lost advantages in point ofhealth, been busy and tranquil, had plenty of books and talk, and seenmy child grow rosier and prettier (said aside) every day. Robert and Iare talking of going up to the monasteries beyond Vallombrosa for a dayor two, on mule-back through forests and mountains. We have had anexcursion to Prato (less difficult) already, and we keep various dreamsin our heads to be acted out on occasion. Our favorite friend here is abrother of Alfred Tennyson's, himself a poet, but most admirable to mefor his simplicity and truth. Robert is very fond of him. Then we likePowers--of the 'Greek Slave'--Swedenborgian and spiritualist; and Mr. Lytton, Sir Edward's son, who is with us often, and always a welcomevisitor. All these confederate friends are ranged with me on thebelieving side with regard to the phenomena, and Robert has to keep usat bay as he best can. Oh, do tell me what you can. Your account deeplyinterested me. We have heard many more intimate personal relations fromAmericans who brush us with their garments as they pass throughFlorence, and I should like to talk these things over with you. Paidmediums, as paid clairvoyants in general, excite a prejudice; yet, perhaps, not reasonably. The curious fact in this movement is, however, the degree in which it works within private families in America. Hasanything of the kind appeared in England? And has the motion of thetables ever taken the form of alphabetical expression, which has beenthe case in America? I had a letter from Athens the other day, mentioning that 'nothing was talked of there except moving tables andspiritual manifestations. ' (The writer was not a believer. ) Even here, from the priest to the Mazzinian, they are making circles. An engravingof a spinning table at a shop window bears this motto: '_E pur simuove!_' That's adroit for Galileo's land, isn't it? Now mind you tellme whatever you hear and see. How does Mrs. Crowe decide? By the way, Iwas glad to observe by the papers that she has had a dramatic success. Your Alexander Smith has noble stuff in him. It's undeniable, indeed. Itstrikes us, however, that he has more imagery than verity, more colourthan form. He will learn to be less arbitrary in the use of hisfigures--of which the opulence is so striking--and attain, as he ripens, more clearness of outline and depth of intention. Meanwhile none but apoet could write this, and this, and this. Your faithfully affectionateE. B. B. , properly speaking BA. July 3. This was written ever so long since. Here we are in July; but I won'twrite it over again. The 'tables' are speaking alphabetically andintelligently in Paris; they knock with their legs on the floor, establishing (what was clear enough before to _me_) the connectionbetween the table-moving and 'rapping spirits. ' Sarianna--who is of theunbelieving of temperaments, as you know--wrote a most curious accountto me the other day of a séance at which she had been present, composedsimply of one or two of our own honest friends and of a young friend oftheirs, a young lady.... [23] She says that she 'was not as muchimpressed as she would have been, ' 'but I am bound to tell the truth, that I _do not think it possible that any tricks could have beenplayed_. ' This from Sarianna is equal to the same testimony--from Mr. Chorley, say! We are planning a retreat into the mountains--into Giotto's country, theCasentino--where we are to find a villa for almost nothing, and shallhave our letters sent daily from Florence, together with books andnewspapers. I look forward to it with joy. We promise one another to beindustrious _à faire frémir_, so as to make the pleasure lawful. LittlePenini walks about, talking of 'mine villa, ' anxiously hoping that 'someboys' may not have pulled all the flowers before he gets there. Heboasts, with considerable complacency, that 'a table in Pallis says I amfour years, ' though the fact doesn't strike him as extraordinary. Do you ever see Mr. Kenyon? I congratulate you on your friend's 'Coeurde Lion. ' _That_ has given you pleasure. * * * * * The summer 'retreat' from Florence this year was not to the Casentinoafter all, but to the Baths of Lucca, which they had already visited in1849. During their stay there, which lasted from July to October, Mr. Browning is said to have composed 'In a Balcony. ' * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ Florence: July 15, 1853. ... We have taken a villa at the Baths of Lucca, after a little holyfear of the company there; but the scenery, the coolness, and theconvenience altogether prevail, and we have taken our villa for threemonths or rather more, and go to it next week with a stiff resolve ofnot calling nor being called upon. You remember perhaps that we werethere four years ago, just after the birth of our child. The mountainsare wonderful in beauty, and we mean to buy our holiday by doing somework. Yesterday evening we had the American Minister at the Court of Turinhere, and it was delightful to hear him talk about Piedmont, itsprogress in civilisation and the comprehension of liberty, and thehonesty and resolution of the King. It is the only hope of Italy, thatPiedmont! God prosper the hope. Besides this diplomatical dignitary andhis wife, we had two American gentlemen of more than averageintelligence, who related wonderful things of the 'spiritualmanifestations' (so called), incontestable things, inexplicable things. You will have seen Faraday's letter. [24] I wish to reverence men ofscience, but they often will not let me. If _I_ know certain facts onthis subject, Faraday _ought_ to have known them before he expressed anopinion on it. His statement does not meet the facts of the case--it isa statement which applies simply to various amateur operations withouttouching on the essential phenomena, such as the moving of tablesuntouched by a finger. Our visitor last night, to say nothing of other witnesses, hasrepeatedly seen this done with his eyes--in private houses, forinstance, where there could be no machinery--and he himself and hisbrother have held by the legs of a table to prevent the motion--themedium sitting some yards away--and that table has been wrenched fromtheir grasp and lifted into the air. My husband's sister, who hasadmirable sense and excessive scepticism on all matters of the kind, waspresent the other day at the house of a friend of ours in Paris, wherean English young lady was medium, and where the table expressed itselfintelligently by knocking, with its leg, responses according to thealphabet. For instance, the age of my child was asked, and the legknocked four times. Sarianna was 'not impressed, ' she says, but, 'beingbound to speak the truth, she does not _think it possible that any trickcould have been used_. ' To hear her say so was like hearing Mr. Chorleysay so; all her prejudices were against it strongly. Mr. Spicer's bookon the subject is flippant and a little vulgar, but the honesty andaccuracy of it have been attested to me by Americans oftener than once. By the way, he speaks in it of your interesting 'Recollections, ' andquotes you upon the possibility of making a ghost story better by thetelling--in reference to Washington. Mr. Tennyson is going to England for a few months, so that our Florenceparty is breaking up, you see. He has printed a few copies of his poems, and is likely to publish them if he meets with encouragement in England, I suppose. They are full of imagery, encompassed with poeticalatmosphere, and very melodious. On the other hand, there is vaguenessand too much personification. It's the smell of a rose rather than arose--very sweet, notwithstanding. His poems are far superior to CharlesTennyson's, bear in mind. As for the poet, we quite love him, Robert andI do. What Swedenborg calls 'selfhood, ' the _proprium_, is not in him. Oh yes! I confess to loving Florence and to having associated with itthe idea of _home_. My child was born here, and here I have been veryhappy and _well_. Yet we shall not live in Florence--we are steady toour Paris plan. We must visit Rome next winter, and in the spring weshall go to Paris _viâ_ London; you may rely on us for next summer. Ithink it too probable that I may not be able to bear two successivewinters in the North; but in that case it will be easy to take a flightfor a few winter months into Italy, and we shall regard Paris, whereRobert's father and sister are waiting for us, as our fixed place ofresidence. As to the distance between Paris and London, it's a mere stepnow. We are to have war, I suppose. I would not believe it for a longwhile, but the Czar seems to be struck with madness--mad in goodearnest. Under these circumstances I hope our Ministry will act withdecision and honesty--but I distrust Lord Aberdeen. There is evidently, or has been, a division in the Cabinet, and perhaps Lord Palmerston isnot the strongest. Louis Napoleon has acted excellently in thisconjuncture--with integrity and boldness--don't you think so? Dear Mr. Kenyon has his brother and sister with him, to his great joy. Robertpretended he would not give me your last letter. Little Wiedeman threwhis arms round my neck (taking the play-cruelty for earnest) andexclaimed, 'Never mind, mine darling Ba! You'll have it. ' He alwayscalls me Ba at coaxing times. Such a darling that child is, indeed! God bless you! Do write soon and tell me in detail of yourself. Our united love, but mine the closest! Your ever most affectionateE. B. B. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ Casa Tolomei, Alia Villa, Bagni di Lucca:July 26, [1853]. I deserve another scold for this other silence, dearest Isa. Scold assoftly as you can! We have been in uncertainty about leavingFlorence--where to go for the summer--and I did not like to write till Icould tell you where to write to _me_. Now we are 'fixed, ' as ourAmerican friends would say. We have taken this house for three months--alarger house than we need. We have a row of plane trees before the doorin which the cicale sing all day, and the beautiful mountains standclose around, keeping us fresh with shadows. Penini thinks he is inEden--_at least he doesn't think otherwise_. We have a garden and anarbour, and the fireflies light us up at nights. With all this, I amsorry for Florence. Florence was horribly hot, and pleasantnotwithstanding. We hated cutting the knot of friends we hadthere--bachelor friends, Isa, who came to us for coffee and smoking! Iwas gracious and permitted the cigar (as you were not present), andthere were quantities of talk, controversy, and confidences eveningafter evening. One of our very favourite friends, Frederick Tennyson, isgone to England, or was to have gone, for three months. Mr. Lytton had areception on the terrace of his villa at Bellosguardo the evening beforeour last in Florence, and we were all bachelors together there, and Imade tea, and we ate strawberries and cream and talked spiritualismthrough one of the pleasantest two hours that I remember. Such a view!Florence dissolving in the purple of the hills; and the stars lookingon. Mr. Tennyson was there, Mr. Powers, and M. Villari[25], anaccomplished Sicilian, besides our young host and ourselves. How we 'setdown' Faraday for his 'arrogant and insolent letter, ' and what storieswe told, and what miracles we swore to! Oh, we are believers here, Isa, except Robert, who persists in wearing a coat of respectablescepticism--so considered--though it is much out of elbows and raggedabout the skirts. If I am right, you will none of you be able todisbelieve much longer--a, new law, or a new development of law, ismaking way everywhere. We have heard much--more than I can tell you in aletter. Imposture is absolutely out of the question, to speak generally;and unless you explain the phenomena by 'a personality unconsciouslyprojected' (which requires explanation of itself), you must admit thespirit theory. As to the simpler forms of the manifestation (it is allone manifestation), the 'turning-tables, ' I was convinced long beforeFaraday's letter that _many_ of the amateur performances were frominvoluntary muscular action--but what then? These are only imitations ofactual phenomena. Faraday's letter does not meet the common fact oftables being moved and lifted without the touch of a finger. It is amost arrogant letter and singularly inconclusive. Tell me any facts youmay hear. Mr. Kinney, the American Minister at the Court of Turin, hadarrived at Florence a few days before we quitted it, and he and his wifehelped us to spend our last evening at Casa Guidi. He is cultivated andhigh-minded. I like him much; and none the less that he brings hopefulaccounts of the state of Piedmont, of the progress of the people, andgood persistency of the King. It makes one's heart beat with the sensethat all is not over with our poor Italy. I am glad you like Frederick Tennyson's poems. They are full of_atmospherical_ poetry, and very melodious. The poet is still betterthan the poems--so truthful, so direct, such a reliable Christian man. Robert and I quite love him. We very much appreciate, too, young Lytton, your old friend. He is noble in many ways, I think, and affectionate. Moreover, he has an incontestable _faculty_ in poetry, and I expectgreat things from him as he ripens into life and experience. Meanwhilehe has just privately printed a drama called 'Clytemnestra, ' tooambitious because after Æschylus, but full of promise indeed. We arehoping that he will come down and see us in the course of ourrustication at the Baths, and occupy our spare bedroom.... As to Mr. ----, his Hebrew was Chinese to _you_, do you say? But, dear, he is strong in veritable Chinese besides! And one evening he nearlyassassinated me with the analysis, chapter by chapter, of a Japanesenovel. Mr. Lytton, who happened to be a witness, swore that I grewpaler and paler, and not with sympathy for the heroine. He is amiraculously vain man--which rather amused me--and, for the rest, isfull of information--yes, and of kindness, I think. He gave me a littleblack profile of you which gives the air of your head, and is so farvaluable to me. As to myself, indeed, he has rather flattered me thanotherwise--I don't complain, I assure you. How could I complain of a manwho compares me to Isaiah, under any circumstances?... God bless you! Robert's love with that of Your ever affectionate and faithfulBA. * * * * * _To Mr. Chorley_ Casa Tolomei (Alia Villa), Bagni di Lucca:August 10, [1853]. My dear Mr. Chorley, --I can't bear that you should intimate by half aword that you are 'a creature to be eaten'--viz. Not to have your sharein friendship and confidence. Now, if you fancy that we, for instance, don't affectionately regard you, you are very wrong, and I am very rightfor feeling inclined to upbraid you. I take the pen from Robert--hewould take it if I did not. We scramble a little for the pen which is totell you this--which is to say it again and again, and be dull in thereiteration, rather than not instruct you properly, as we teach ourchild to do--D O G, dog; D O G, dog; D O G, dog. Says Robert, 'What aslow business!' Yet he's a quick child; and you too must be quick andcomprehending, or we shall take it to heart sadly. Often I think, and wesay to one another, that we belied ourselves to you in England. If youknew how, at that time, Robert was vexed and worn!--why, he was not thesame even to _me_! He seemed to himself to be slipping out of waistcoatsand friends at once--so worn and teased he was! But then and now believethat he loved and loves you. Set him down as a friend--as somebody to'rest on' after all; and don't fancy that because we are away here inthe wilderness (which blossoms as a rose, to one of us at least) we maynot be full of affectionate thoughts and feelings towards you in yourdifferent sort of life in London. So sorry we are--I especially, for Ithink I understand the grief especially--about the household troubleswhich you hint at and Mr. Kenyon gave us a key to. I quite understandhow a whole life may seem rumpled up and creased--torn for the moment;only you will live it smooth again, dear Mr. Chorley--take courage. Youhave time and strength and good aims, and human beings have been happywith much less. I understate your advantages on purpose, you see. Iheard you talked of in Florence when Miss Cushman, in the quarter of anhour she gave us at Casa Guidi, told us of the oath she had in heaven tobring out your play and make it a triumph. How she praised the play, andyou! Twice I have spoken with her--once on a balcony on the boulevard, when together we saw Louis Napoleon enter Paris in immediate face of theempire, and that once in Florence. I like the 'manly soul' in her faceand manners. Manly, not masculine--an excellent distinction of Mrs. Jameson's. By the way, we hear wonderful things of the portrait paintedof Miss Cushman at Rome by Mr. Page the artist, called 'the AmericanTitian' by the Americans.... There I stop, not to 'fret' you beyond measure. Besides, now that youCzars of the 'Athenæum' have set your Faradays on us, ukase and knout, what Pole, in the deepest of the brain, would dare to have a thought onthe subject? Now that Professor Faraday has 'condescended, ' as the'Literary Gazette' affectingly puts it (and the condescension issufficiently obvious in the letter--'how we stoop!')--now that ProfessorFaraday has condescended to explain the whole question--which hadoffered some difficulty, it is admitted, to 'hundreds of intelligentmen, including five or six eminent men of science, ' in Paris, and, wemay add, to thousands of unintelligent men elsewhere, including theeminent correspondent of the 'Literary Gazette'--let us all be silentfor evermore. For my part, I won't say that Lord Bacon would haveexplained any question to a child even without feeling it to be an actof condescension. I won't hint under my breath that Lord Baconreverenced every _fact_ as a footstep of Deity, and stooped to pick upevery rough, ungainly stone of a fact, though it were likely to tear anddeform the smooth wallet of a theory. I, for my part, belong, you know, not to the 'eminent men of science, ' nor even to the 'intelligent men, 'but simply to the women, children (and poets?), and if we happen to seewith our eyes a table lifted from the floor without the touch of afinger or foot, let no dog of us bark--much less a puppy-dog! The famousletter holds us gagged. What it does not hold is the facts; but, _enrevanche_, the writer and his abettors know the secret of beinginvincible--which is, not to fight. My child proposed a donkey-raceyesterday, the condition being that he should ride first. Somebody, toldme once that when Miss Martineau has spoken eloquently on one side of aquestion, she drops her ear-trumpet to give the opportunity to heradversary. Most controversies, to do justice to the world, are conductedon the same plan and terms. What I do venture however to say is that it's _not_ all over in Parisbecause of Faraday's letter. _Ask Lamartine. _ What I hear and what the'Literary Gazette' hears from Paris is by no means the same thing. Ihear Hebrew while the 'Gazette' hears Dutch--a miracle befitting thesubject, or what was once considered to be the subject (I beg ProfessorFaraday's pardon), before it was annihilated. How pert women can be, can't they, Mr. Chorley? particularly when theyare safe among the mountains, shut in with a row of seven plane-treesjoined at top. I won't go on to offer myself as 'spiritual correspondentto the "Athenæum, "' though I have a modest conviction that it mightincrease your sale considerably. Ah, tread us down! put us out! You willhave some trouble with us yet. The opposition Czar of St. Petersburgsupports us, be it known, and Louis Napoleon comes to us for oracles. The King of Holland is going mad gently in our favour--quite absorbed, says an informant. But I won't quote kings. It is giving oneself toogreat a disadvantage. We stayed in Florence till it was oven-heat, and then we came here, where it was fire-heat for a short time, though with cool nightscomparatively, by means of which we lived, comparatively too. Now it iscool by day and night. You know these beautiful hills, the green rushingriver which keeps them apart, the chestnut woods, the sheep-walks andgoat-walks, the villages on the peaks of the mountains like wild eagles;the fresh, unworn, uncivilised, world-before-the-flood look ofeverything? If you don't know it, you ought to know it. Come and knowit--do! We have a spare bedroom which opens its door of itself at thethought of you, and if you can trust yourself so far from home, try forour sakes. Come and look in our faces and learn us more by heart, andsee whether we are not two friends. I am so very sorry for yourincreased anxiety about your sister. I scarcely know how to cheer you, or, rather, to attempt such a thing, but it did strike me that she wasfull of life when I saw her. It may be better with her than your fears, after all. If you would come to us, you would be here in two hours fromLeghorn; and there's a telegraph at Leghorn--at Florence. Think of it, do. The Storys are at the top of the hill; you know Mr. And Mrs. Story. She and I go backward and forward on donkeyback to tea-drinking andgossiping at one another's houses, and our husbands hold the reins. AlsoRobert and I make excursions, he walking as slowly as he can to keep upwith my donkey. When the donkey trots we are more equal. The other daywe were walking, and I, attracted by a picturesque sort of ladder-bridgeof loose planks thrown across the river, ventured on it, withoutthinking of venturing. Robert held my hand. When we were in the middlethe bridge swayed, rocked backwards and forwards, and it was difficultfor either of us to keep footing. A gallant colonel who was following uswent down upon his hands and knees and crept. In the meantime a peasantwas assuring our admiring friends that the river was deep at that spot, and that four persons had been lost from the bridge. I was so sick withfright that I could scarcely stand when all was over, never havingcontemplated an heroic act. 'Why, what a courageous creature you are!'said our friends. So reputations are made, Mr. Chorley. Yes, we are doing a little work, both of us. Robert is working at avolume of lyrics, of which I have seen but a few, and those seemed to meas fine as anything he has done. We neither of us show our work to oneanother till it is finished. An artist must, I fancy, either find or_make_ a solitude to work in, if it is to be good work at all. This forthe consolation of bachelors! I am glad you like Mr. Powers's paper. You would have 'fretted' meterribly if you had not, for I liked it myself, knowing it to be anearnest opinion and expressive of the man. I had a very interestingletter from him the other day. He is devout in his art, and the simplestof men otherwise.... Now, I will ask you to write to us. It is _you_ who give us up, indeed. Will your sister accept our true regards and sympathies? I shall persistin hoping to see her a little stronger next spring--or summer, rather. May God bless you! I will set myself down, and Robert with me, as Faithfully and affectionately yours, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ Casa Tolomei, Alia Villa, Bagni di Lucca:August 20 and 21, 1853. ... We are enjoying the mountains here, riding the donkeys in thefootsteps of the sheep, and eating strawberries and milk by basins full. The strawberries succeed one another, generation after generation, throughout the summer, through growing on different aspects of thehills. If a tree is felled in the forests strawberries spring up just asmushrooms might, and the peasants sell them for just nothing. Our littlePenini is wild with happiness; he asks in his prayers that God would'mate him dood and tate him on a dontey, ' (make him good and take him ona donkey), so resuming all aspiration for spiritual and worldlyprosperity. Then our friends, Mr. And Mrs. Story, help the mountains toplease us a good deal. He is the son of Judge Story, the biographer ofhis father, and, for himself, sculptor and poet; and she a sympathetic, graceful woman, fresh and innocent in face and thought. We go backwardsand forwards to tea and talk at one another's houses. Last night theywere our visitors, and your name came in among the Household Gods tomake us as agreeable as might be. We were considering your expectationsabout Mr. Hawthorne. 'All right, ' says Mr. Story, '_except the rare halfhours_' (of eloquence). He represents Mr. Hawthorne as not silent onlyby shyness, but by nature and inaptitude. He is a man, it seems, whotalks wholly and exclusively with the pen, and who does not open outsocially with his most intimate friends any more than with strangers. Itisn't his _way_ to converse. That has been a characteristic of some menof genius before him, you know, but you will be neverthelessdisappointed, very surely. Also, Mr. Story does not imagine that youwill get anything from him on the subject of the 'manifestations. ' Youhave read the 'Blithedale Romance, ' and are aware of his opinionexpressed there? He evidently recognised them as a sort of scurvyspirits, good to be slighted, because of their disreputableness. By theway, I heard read the other day a very interesting letter from Paris, from Mr. Appleton, Longfellow's brother-in-law, who is said to be a manof considerable ability, and who is giving himself wholly just now tothe investigation of this spirit-subject, termed by him the 'sublimestconundrum ever given to the world for guessing. ' He appears still indoubt whether the intelligence is external, or whether the phenomena arenot produced by an _unconscious projection in the medium of a secondpersonality, accompanied with clairvoyance, and attended by physicalmanifestations_. This seems to me to double the difficulty; yet the ideais entertained as a doubtful sort of hypothesis by such men as SirEdward Lytton and others. _Imposture_ is absolutely out of the question, be certain, as an ultimate solution, and a greater proof of credulitycan scarcely be given than a belief in imposture as things are atpresent. But I was going to tell you Mr. Appleton has a young Americanfriend in Paris, who, 'besides being a very sweet girl, ' says he, 'is astrong medium. ' By Lamartine's desire he took her to the poet's house;'all the phenomena were reproduced, and everybody present convinced, 'Lamartine himself 'in ecstasies. ' Among other spirits came Henry Clay, who said, 'J'aime Lamartine. ' We shall have it in the next volume ofbiography. Louis Napoleon gets oracles from the 'raps, ' and it is saidthat the Czar does the same, --your Emperor, certainly, --and the King ofHolland is allowing the subject to absorb him. 'Dying out! dying out!'Our accounts from New York are very different, but unbelieving personsare apt to stop their ears and exclaim, 'We hear nothing now. ' On oneoccasion the Hebrew Professor at New York was addressed in Hebrew to hisastonishment. Well, I don't believe, with all my credulity, in poets being perfectedat universities. What can be more absurd than this proposition of'finishing' Alexander Smith at Oxford or Cambridge? We don't know how todeal with literary genius in England, certainly. We are apt to treatpoets (when we condescend to treat them at all) as over-masculine papasdo babies; and Monckton Milnes was accused of only touching his in orderto poke out its eyes, for instance. Why not put this new poet in apublic library? There are such situations even among us, and somethingof the kind was done for Patmore. The very judgment Tennyson gave ofhim, _in the very words_, we had given here--'fancy, not imagination. 'Also, imagery in excess; thought in deficiency. Still, the new poet is atrue poet, and the defects obvious in him may be summed up in _youth_simply. Let us wait and see. I have read him only in extracts, such asthe reviews give, and such as a friend helped me to by good-natured MS. It is extraordinary to me that with his amount of development, as far asI understand it, he has met with so much rapid recognition. Tell me ifyou have read 'Queechy, ' the American book--novel--by ElizabethWetherell? I think it very clever and characteristic. Mrs. Beecher Stowescarcely exceeds it, after all the trumpets. We are about to have avisit from Mr. Lytton, Sir Edward's only son--only child now. Did I tellyou that he was a poet--yes, and of an unquestionable faculty? I expectmuch from him one day, when he shakes himself clear of the poeticalinfluences of the age, which he will have strength to do presently. Hethinks as well as sees, and that is good.... Oh yes! I like Mr. Kingsley. I am glad he spoke kindly of _us_, becausereally I like him and admire him. Few people have struck me as much ashe did last year in England. 'Manly, ' do you say? But I am not very fondof praising men by calling them _manly_. I hate and detest a masculineman. _Humanly_ bold, brave, true, direct, Mr. Kingsley is--a moralcordiality and an original intellect uniting in him. I did not see_her_ and the children, but I hope we shall be in better fortune nexttime. Since I began this letter the Storys and ourselves have had a granddonkey-excursion to a village called Benabbia, and the cross above it onthe mountain-peak. We returned in the dark, and were in some danger oftumbling down various precipices; but the scenery was exquisite--pastspeaking of for beauty. Oh those jagged mountains, rolled together likepre-Adamite beasts, and setting their teeth against the sky! It waswonderful. You may as well guess at a lion by a lady's lapdog as atNature by what you see in England. All honour to England, lanes andmeadowland, notwithstanding; to the great trees above all. Will youwrite to me sooner? Will you give me the details of yourself? Will youlove me? Your most affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ Casa Tolomei, Alia Villa, Bagni di Lucca:August 30, [1853]. Dearest Fanny, --On your principle that 'there's too much to say, ' Iought not to think of writing to you these three months; you havepleased me and made me grateful to such an extremity by your most prettyand graceful illustrative outlines. The death-bed I admire particularly;the attitudes are very expressive, and the open window helps thesentiment. What am I to say for your kindness in holding a torch of thiskind (perfumed for the 'nobilities') between the wind and my poems?Thank you, thank you. And when that's said, I ought to stop short andbeg you, dear Fanny, not to waste yourself in more labour of this kind, seeing that I am accursed and that nothing is to be done with my booksand me, as far as my public is concerned. Why not get up a book of yourown, a collection of 'outlines' illustrative of everybody's poems, whichwould stand well on its own feet and make a circle for itself? Think of_that_ rather. For my part, there's nothing to be done with me, as Isaid; that is, there's nothing to be done with my publishers, who justdo as they like with my books, and don't like to do much good for _me_with them, whatever they may do for themselves. I am misanthropical inrespect to the booksellers. They manage one as they please, and not atall to please one. I have no more to say to the fate of my books thanyou have--and not much more to pocket. This third edition, for instance, which should have been out four or five months ago, they are keeping, Isuppose, for the millennium, encouraged probably by the spiritualmanifestations; and _my_ personal manifestations meanwhile have as muchweight with them as facts have with Faraday, or the theory of fair playwith the London 'Athenæum. ' I am sick of it all, indeed. I look down onit all as the epicurean gods do on the world without putting out afinger to save an empire; perhaps because they can't. Long live the----, who are kings of us. It's the best thing possible, I conclude, inthis best of possible social economies, though for ourselvesindividually it may not be a very good thing; not precisely what weshould choose. Think of the separate book of outlines. Seriously, Robertand I recommend you to consider it. You might make a book fordrawing-room tables which would be generally acceptable if not tooexpensive. And Mr. Spicer is bringing me more? How kind of you. And whenis he coming? Scarcely could anyone come as a stranger whom I desiremore to see, and I do hope he will bring me facts and fantasies too onthe great subject which is interesting me so deeply. His book of 'Sightsand Sounds' we have read, but the new book has not penetrated to us. 'Sights and Sounds' is very curious, and the authenticity of its factshas been confirmed to me by various testimonies, but the author is tooclever for his position; I mean too full of flash and wit. There's anair of levity, and of effective writing, without which the book wouldhave been more impressive and convincing; don't you think so? And herewe get to the heart of most of the difficulties of the subject. Why dowe make no quicker advances, do you say? Why are our communicationschiefly trivial? Why, but because we ourselves are trivial, and don'tbring serious souls and concentrated attentions and holy aspirations tothe spirits who are waiting for these things? Spirit comes to spirit byaffinity, says Swedenborg; but our cousinship is not with the high andnoble. We try experiments from curiosity, just as children play with theloadstone; our ducks swim, but they don't get beyond that, and _won't_, unless we do better. _To_ prove what I say, consider what you sayyourself, that you couldn't manage to draw the same persons togetheragain (these very persons being persuaded of the verity of the spiritualcommunications they were in reach of) on account of the difficulties ofthe London season. Difficulties of the London season! The inconsequenceof human nature is more wonderful to me than the ingress of any spiritscould be. This instance is scarcely credible.... I had a letter the other day from Mr. Chorley, and he was chivalrousenough (I call it real chivalry in his state of opinion) to deliver tome a message from Mr. Westland Marston, whom he met at Folkestone, andwho kindly proposes to write a full account to me of his own spiritualexperiences, having heard from you that they were likely to interest me;I mean that I was interested in the whole subject. Will you tell himfrom me that I shall be most thankful for anything he will vouchsafe towrite to me, and will you give him my address? I don't know where tofind him, and Mr. Chorley is on the Continent wandering. I have seennothing for myself, but I am a believer upon testimony; and a stream ofAmericans running through Florence, and generally making way to us, thetestimony has been various and strong. Interested in the subject! Whocan be uninterested in the subject? Even Robert is interested, whoprofesses to be a sceptic, an infidel indeed (though I can swear tohaving seen him considerably shaken more than once), and who promisesnever to believe till he has experience by his own senses. Isn't it hardon me that I can't draw a spirit into our circle and convince him? Hewould give much, he says, to find it true.... Here an end. Write soon and write much. Your ever affectionateE. B. B. (called BA). Our child was gathering box leaves in a hedge the other day (wherever wehave a hedge, it's box, I would have you to understand), and pulled ayellow flower by mistake. Down he flung it as if it stung him. 'Ah, brutto! Colore Tedesco!' Think of that baby! * * * * * _To Mr. Westwood_ Casa Tolomei, Alia Villa, Bagni di Lucca:September [1853]. As to Patmore's new volume of poems, my husband and I had the pleasureof reading in MS. The poem which gives its title to the book. He has agreat deal of thought and poetry in him. Alexander Smith I know bycopious extracts in reviews, and by some MSS. Once sent to us by friendsand readers. Judging from those he must be set down as a true poet inopulence of imagery, but defective, so far (he is said to be very young)in the intellectual part of poetry. His images are flowers thrown to himby the gods, beautiful and fragrant, but having no root either in Ennaor Olympus. There's no unity and holding together, no reality properlyso called, no thinking of any kind. I hear that Alfred Tennyson says ofhim: 'He has fancy without imagination. ' Still, it is difficult to sayat the dawn what may be written at noon. Certainly he is very rich andfull of colour; nothing is more surprising to me than his favourablereception with the critics. I should have thought that his very meritswould be against him. If you can read novels, and you have too much sense not to be fond ofthem, read 'Villette. ' The scene of the greater part of it is inBelgium, and I think it a strong book. 'Ruth, ' too, by Mrs. Gaskell, theauthor of 'Mary Barton, ' has pleased me very much. Do you know theFrench novels? there's passion and power for you, if you like suchthings. Balzac convinced me that the French language was malleable intopoetry. We are behindhand here in books, and elderly ones seem young tous. For instance, we have not caught sight yet of 'Moore's Life, ' theextracts from which are unpropitious, I think. I had a fancy, I cannottell you how it grew, that Moore, though an artificial, thereforeinferior, poet, was a most brilliant letter-writer. His letters aredisappointing, and his mean clinging to the aristocracy still more so. I wish you could suddenly walk into this valley, which seems to havebeen made by the flashing scimitar of the river that cuts through themountain. Ah! you in England, and in Belgium still less, do not knowwhat scenery is, what Nature is when she is natural. You could as soonguess at a tiger from the cat on the hearthstone. You do not know; but, being a poet, you can dream. You have divine insights, as we all have, of heaven, all of us with whom the mortal mind does not cake andobstruct into cecity. No, no, no. I protest against anything I have notreprinted. The Prometheus poems bear the mark of their time, which wasone of greenness and immaturity. Indeed, the responsibility for what I_acknowledge_ in print is hard enough to bear. Don't put another stickon the overloaded--_ass_, shall I say candidly? * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ Bagni di Lucca: October 5, [1853]. My dearest Mrs. Martin, I am delighted to have your letter at last, andshould have come upon you like a storm in a day or two if you hadn'twritten, for really I began to be low in patience. Also, after havingspent the summer here, we were about to turn our faces to Florenceagain, and it was necessary to my own satisfaction to let you know ofour plans for the winter. To begin with those, then, we go to Florence, as I said, from hence, and after a week or two, or three or four as itmay be, the briefer time if we let our house, we proceed to Rome forsome months. You see we _must_ visit Rome before we go northwards, andnorthwards we _must_ go in the spring, so that the logic of events seemsto secure Rome to us this time; otherwise I should still doubt of ourgoing there, so often have we been on the verge and caught back.... So you think that he[26] is looking 'less young than formerly, ' and that'we should all learn to hear and make such remarks with equanimity. 'Now, once for all, let me tell you--confess to you--I never, if I liveto be a hundred, should learn that learning. Death has the luminous sidewhen we know how to look; but the rust of time, the touch of age, ishideous and revolting to me, and I never see it, by even a line'sbreadth, in the face of any I love, without pain and recoil of nature. Ihave a worse than womanly weakness about that class of subjects. Deathis a face-to-face intimacy; age, a thickening of the mortal mask betweensouls. So I hate it; put it far from me. Why talk of age, when it's justan appearance, an accident, when we are all young in soul and heart? Wedon't say, one to another, 'You are freckled in the forehead to-day, ' or'There's a yellow shade in your complexion. ' Leave those disagreeabletrifles. I, for my part, never felt younger. Did _you_, I wonder? To besure not. Also, I have a gift in my eyes, I think, for scarcely everdoes it strike me that anybody is altered, except my child, forinstance, who certainly is larger than when he was born. When I went toEngland after five years' absence, everybody (save one) appeared to meyounger than I was used to conceive of them, and of course I took forgranted that I appeared to them in the same light. Be sure that it ishighly moral to be young as long as possible. Women who throw up thegame early (or even late) and wear dresses 'suitable to their years'(that is, as hideous as possible), are a disgrace to their sex, aren'tthey now? And women and men with statistical memories, who are alwaysquoting centuries and the years thereof ('Do you remember in '20?' _Asif anybody could_), are the pests of society. And, in short, and for mypart, whatever honours of authorship may ever befall me, I hope I may besafe from the epithet which distinguishes the Venerable Bede. Now, if I had written this from Paris, you would have cried out upon thefrivolity I had picked up. Who would imagine that I had just finished asummer of mountain solitude, succeeding a winter's meditation onSwedenborg's philosophy, and that such fruit was of it all? By the way, tell me how it was that Paris did harm to Moore? Mentally, was it, andmorally, or in the matter of the body? I have not seen the biographyyet. Italy keeps us behind in new books. But the extracts given innewspapers displease me through the ignoble tone of 'doing honour to thelord, ' which is anything but religious. Also, the letters seem somewhatless brilliant than I expected from Moore; but it must be, after all, amost entertaining book. Tell me if you have read Mrs. Gaskell's 'Ruth. 'That's a novel which I much admire. It is strong and healthy at once, teaching a moral frightfully wanted in English society. Such aninteresting letter I had from Mrs. Gaskell a few days ago simple, worthyof 'Ruth. ' By the way, 'Ruth' is a great advance on 'Mary Barton, 'don't you think so? 'Villette, ' too (Jane Eyre's), is very powerful. Since we have been here we have had for a visitor (drawing the advantagefrom our spare room) Mr. Lytton, Sir Edward's only son, who is attachéat the Florence Legation at this time. He lost nothing from the test ofhouse-intimacy with either of us--gained, in fact, much. Full of allsorts of good and nobleness he really is, and gifted with high facultiesand given to the highest aspirations--not vulgar ambitions, understand--he will never be a great diplomatist, nor fancy himself aninch taller for being master of Knebworth. [27] Then he is somewhatdreamy and unpractical, we must confess; he won't do for drawing cartsunder any sort of discipline. Such a summer we have enjoyed here, freefrom burning heats and mosquitos--the two drawbacks of Italy--and in theheart of the most enchanting scenery. Mountains not too grand forexquisite verdure, and just kept from touching by the silver finger of astream. I have been donkey-riding, and so has Wiedeman. I even went (toprove to you how well I am) the great excursion to Prato Fiorito, sixmiles there and six miles back, perpendicularly up and down. Oh, italmost slew me of course! I could not stir for days after. But whowouldn't see heaven and die? Such a vision of divine scenery, such as, in England, the best dreamers do not dream of! As we came near home Isaid to Mr. Lytton, who was on horseback, 'I am dying. How are you?' Towhich he answered, 'I thought a quarter of an hour ago I could not keepup to the end, but now I feel better. ' This from a young man justone-and-twenty! He is delicate, to be sure, but still you may imaginethat the day's work was not commonly fatiguing. The guides had to leadthe horses and donkeys. It was like going up and down a wall, withoutthe smoothness. No road except in the beds of torrents. Robertpretended to be not tired, but, of course (as sensible people say of theturning tables), nobody believed a word of it. It was altogether asupernatural pretension, and very impertinent in these enlightened days. Mr. And Mrs. Story were of our party. He is the son of Judge Story andfull of all sorts of various talent. And she is one of those cultivatedand graceful American women who take away the reproach of the nationalwant of refinement. We have seen much of them throughout the summer. There has been a close communion of tea-drinking between the houses, andas we are all going to Rome together, this pleasure is not a pastone.... We still point to Paris. Ah! you disapprove of Paris, I see, but we musttry the experiment. What I am afraid of is simply the climate. I doubtwhether I shall stand two winters running as far north as Paris, but ifI _can't_, we must come south again. Then I love Italy. Oh! if it werenot for the distance between Italy and England, we should definitivelysettle here at once. We shall be in England, by the way, next summer forpleasure and business, having, or about to have, two books to seethrough the press. Not _prose_, Mr. Martin. I'm lost--devoted to theinfernal gods of rhyming. 'It's my fate, ' as a popular poet said whengoing to be married.... (We go on Monday. Write to Florence for the next month. ) * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Florence: autumn, 1853. ] My dearest Sarianna, --I shall not be able to write very much to-day, forRobert is in haste, and we are both overwhelmed with differentengagements, the worst of which have been forced on me _maritally_rather than artistically by the portrait-sittings he of course has toldyou of. His own portrait, by Mr. Reade, I must be glad about, seeingthat though it by no means gives his best expression, the face is_there_, and it will be the best work extant on the same subject. I onlywish that the artist had been satisfied with it, or taken my Penini inthe second place instead of me, who am not wanted in canvas for art'ssake, or for any other sake in the world. When gone from hence, maynobody think of me again, except when one or two may think perhaps how Iloved them.... Do you think much of the war? I hope all will be done on the part of thetwo western Powers honestly and directly; and then, may the best thatcan, come out of the worst that must be. The poor Italians catch likemen in an agony at all these floating straws. We hear that the newAustrian Commandant has received instructions to hold no intercoursewith members of the English and French Legations till further orders arereceived. We have lived a disturbed life lately; too much coming and going evenwith agreeable people. There has been no time for work. In Rome it mustbe different, or we shall get on poorly with our books, I think. Robertseems, however, by his account, to be in an advanced state already.... [_Incomplete. _] * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ Casa Guidi: Saturday [about October, 1853]. My dearest Isa, -- ... I was very sorry on returning from Lucca to findonly Mr. Thompson's note and yours; but though we missed him at Florencewe shall see him at Rome, I hope. There was also a card from MissLynch, [28] an American poetess (one of the ninety-and-nine muses), witha note of introduction from England. Do you hear of her at Rome? The'Ninth Street' printed on her card leaves me in the infinite as far asconjectures of where she is go. So pleased I am to get back to Florence, and so little inclined totumble out of my nest again; yet we _shall go to Rome_ if some newobstacle does not arise. We have had no glimpse of the Tassinaris; theyseem to have vanished from the scene. Florence is full of great people, so called, from England, and the _real sommités_ are coming, such asAlfred Tennyson, and, with an interval, Dickens and Thackeray. The twolatter go to Rome for the winter, I understand. Do you say _Edward Lytton_? But he isn't Edward Lytton now--he isRobert. The two Edwards clashed inconveniently, and now he doesn't signan Edward even by an initial; he has renounced the name, and is a Robertfor evermore. I am glad to tell you that although he is delicate andexcitable there seems to me no tendency to disease of any kind. Indeed, he is looking particularly well just now. He is full of sensibility, both intellectually and morally, which is scarcely favorable to healthand long life; but in the long run, if people can run, they get oversuch a disadvantage. At this time he is about to publish a collection ofpoems. I think highly of his capabilities; and he is a great favoritewith both of us for various excellent reasons. Did I tell you of hispassing a fortnight with us at Lucca, and how sorry we were to lose himat last? Sir Edward either has just brought out, or is bringing out, avolume of poems of his own, called 'Cornflowers' (referring to theharvest time of maturity in which he produces them), and chiefly of ametaphysical character. His son, who has seen the manuscript, thinksthem the best of his poems. 'My Novel' is certainly excellent. Did Itell you that I had seized and read it? I shall get at Swedenborg in Rome, and get on with my readings. Thereare deep truths in him, I cannot doubt, though I can't receive_everything_, which may be my fault. I would fain speak with a wisehumility. We will talk on these things and the spirits. How that lastsubject attracts me! It strikes me that we are on the verge of greatdevelopments of the spiritual nature, and that in a philosophical pointof view (apart from ulterior ends) the facts are worthy of alladmiration and meditation. If a spiritual influx, it is _mixed_--goodand evil together. The fact of there being a mixture of evil justifiesSwedenborg's philosophy (does it not?) without concluding against themovement generally. We were at the Pergola the other night, and heardthe 'Trovatore, ' Verdi's new work. Very passionate and dramatic, surely. The Storys are here on their way back to Rome. Oh, I mean to convertyou, Isa! Is it true that the fever at Rome is still raging? Give mylove to your dear invalid, who must be comforting you so much with herimprovement. Penini is in a chronic state of packing up his desk to goto '_Bome_. ' Robert's love with mine as ever. I can't write eitherlegibly or otherwise than stupidly on this detestable paper, havingnever learnt to skate. Are we giving you too much trouble, dearest, kindIsa? Your affectionate friendE. B. B. * * * * * After a few weeks only at Florence the Brownings moved on to Rome andthere (at No. 43 Via Bocca di Leone) they passed the winter. Both werenow actively engaged on their new volumes of poetry--Mr. Browning on his'Men and Women, ' Mrs. Browning on 'Aurora Leigh, ' both of which were, however, still far from completion. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ Via Bocca di Leone, Rome: December 21, 1853. My dearest Mona Nina, --I have been longer than I thought to be in Romewithout writing to you, especially when I have a letter of yours forwhich to thank you. My fancy was to wait till I had seen Gerardine inher own home, and then to write to you, but I have called on her threetimes, and the three Fates have been at it each time to prevent mygetting in. Still, we have met _here_, and I would rather not wait anylonger for whatever might be added to what I have seen and knowalready.... Ah, dearest friend! you have heard how our first step into Rome was afall, not into a catacomb but a fresh grave[29], and how everything herehas been slurred and blurred to us, and distorted from the grand antiqueassociations. I protest to you I doubt whether I shall get over it, andwhether I ever shall feel that this is Rome. The first day at the bed'shead of that convulsed and dying child; and the next two, three, fourweeks in great anxiety about his little sister, who was all but given upby the physicians; the English nurse horribly ill of the same fever, andanother case in this house. It was not only sympathy. I was selfishlyand intensely frightened for my own treasures; I wished myself at theend of the world with Robert and Penini twenty times a day. Rome hasbeen very peculiarly unhealthy; and I heard a Monsignore observe theother morning that there would not be much truce to the fever till Marchcame. Still, I begin to take breath again and be reasonable. Penini'scheeks are red as apples, and if we avoid the sun, and the wind, and thedamp, and, above all if God takes care of us, we shall do excellently. _I_, of course, am in a flourishing condition; walk out nearly every dayand scarcely cough at all. Which isn't enough for me, you see. Dearfriend, we have not set foot in the Vatican. Oh, barbarians! But we have seen Mrs. Kemble, and I am as enchanted as I ought to be, and even, perhaps, a little more. She has been very kind and gracious tome; she was to have spent an evening with us three days since, butsomething intervened. I am much impressed by her as well as attracted toher. What a voice, what eyes, what eyelids full of utterance! Then we have had various visits from Mr. Thackeray and his daughters. 'She writes to me of Thackeray instead of Raffael, and she is at Rome'!But she _isn't_ at Rome. There's the sadness of it. We got to Gibson'sstudio, which is close by, and saw his coloured Venus. I don't like her. She has come out of her cloud of the ideal, and to my eyes is not toodecent. Then in the long and slender throat, in the turn of it, and thesetting on of the head, you have rather a grisette than a goddess. 'Tisover pretty and _petite_, the colour adding, of course, to this effect. Crawford's studio (the American sculptor) was far more interesting to methan Gibson's. By the way, Mr. Page's portrait of Miss Cushman is reallysomething wonderful--soul and body together. You can show nothing likeit in England, take for granted. Indeed, the American artists considerthemselves a little aggrieved when you call it as good as a Titian. '_Did_ Titian ever produce anything like it?' said an admirer in myhearing. Critics wonder whether the colour will _stand_. It is a theoryof this artist that time does not _tone_, and that Titian's pictureswere painted as we see them. The consequence of which is that his(Page's) pictures are undertoned in the first instance, and if theychange at all will turn black[30]. May all Boston rather turn black, which it may do one of these days by an eruption from the South, when'Uncle Tomison' gets strong enough. We have been to St. Peter's; we have stood in the Forum and seen theColiseum. Penini says: 'The sun has tome out. I think God knows I wantto go out to walk, and _so_ He has sent the sun out. ' There's a childwho has faith enough to put us all to shame. A vision of angels wouldn'tstartle him in the least. When his poor little friend died, and we hadto tell him, he inquired, fixing on me those earnest blue eyes, 'Didpapa _see_ the angels when they took away Joe?' And when I answered 'No'(for I never try to deceive him by picturesque fictions, I should notdare, I tell him simply what I believe myself), 'Then did Joe _go up_ byhimself?' In a moment there was a burst of cries and sobs. The other dayhe asked me if I thought _Joe had seen the Dute of Wellyton_. He has amedal of the Duke of Wellington, which put the name into his head. By-the-bye, Robert yesterday, in a burst of national vanity, informedthe child that this was the man who beat Napoleon. 'Then I sint he avelly naughty man. What! he beat Napoleon _wiz a stit_?' (with a stick). Imagine how I laughed, and how Robert himself couldn't help laughing. So, the seraphs judge our glories! If you have seen Sir David Brewster lately I should like to know whetherhe has had more experience concerning the tables, and has modified hisconclusions in any respect. I myself am convinced as I can be of anyfact, that there is an _external intelligence_; the little I have seenis conclusive to me. And this makes me more anxious that the subjectshould be examined with common fairness by learned persons. Only thelearned won't learn--that's the worst of them. Their hands are too fullto gather simples. It seems to me a new development of law in the humanconstitution, which has worked before in exceptional cases, but nowworks in general. Dearest friend, I do not speak of your own anxious watch and tendergrief, but think of them deeply. Believe that I love you always and inall truth. YourE. B. B. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ [Rome:] 43 Bocca di Leone: December 27, [1853]. My dearest Fanny, --I can't judge of your 'obstacles, ' of course, but asto your being snowed up on the road or otherwise impeded between Romeand Cività (Castellana or Vecchia), there's certainly not room for evena dream of it. There has been beautiful weather here ever since we came, except for exacting invalids. I, for instance, have been kept in thehouse for a fortnight or more (till Christmas Day, when I was able toget to St. Peter's) by tramontana; but there has been sun on _most_ daysof cold, and nothing has been _severe_ as cold. The hard weather came inNovember, before we arrived. I was out yesterday, and may be to-day, perhaps. 'Judge ye!'... You bid me write. But to what end, if you are here on New Year's Day?There's not time for a letter. And at first I intended not to write, till beginning to consider how, asyou are not actually of the race of Medes and Persians, you mightpossibly so modify your plans as to be able to receive these lines. Oh, a provoking person or persons you are, since you and Ellen Heaton areplural henceforth! No, I won't include her. _You_ are _singular_, byyour own confession, on this occasion. And, instead of Christmassolemnisations, I shall take to reading the Commination Service over youif you stay any longer at Florence because of the impracticable, snowed-up roads around Rome. You really might as well object to comingon account of the heat!... I thank you very much for meaning to bring my goods for me. I wish Icould have seen your pictures before they took to themselves goldenwings and fled away. Is it true, really, that you think to exhibit inLondon Penini's portrait at the piano, as Sophie Eckley tells me? Ishall like to hear that you succeed in that. I see _her_ every day almost, if not quite. Nobody is like her. Andthere are quantities of people here to choose from. I have not takenheart and 'an evening for reception' yet, but we have had '_squeezes_'of more or less stringency. Miss Ogle is here--and her family, ofcourse, for she is young--the author of 'A Lost Love, ' that very prettybook; and she is natural and pleasing. Do you know Lady Oswald, and herdaughter and son? She is Lady Elgin's sister-in-law, and brought aletter to me from Lady Augusta Bruce. Then the Marshalls found us outthrough Mr. De Vere (_her_ cousin), and in the name of Alfred Tennyson(their intimate friend). Mrs. Marshall was a Miss Spring Rice, and isvery refined in all senses. Refinement expresses the whole woman. Yes, there are some nice people here--nice people; it's the word. Nobody asnear to me as Mr. Page, whom we often see, I am happy to say, and whohas just presented the world (only _that_ is generally said of the lady)with a _son_, and is on the point of presenting said world with a Venus. _Will_ you come to see? I wonder.... I want you here to see a portrait taken of me in chalks by Miss Fox. Isaid 'No' to her in London, which was my sole reason for saying 'Yes' toher in Rome, when she asked me for a patient--or victim. She draws well, and has been very successful with the hair at least. For the likenessyou shall judge for yourself. She comes here for an hour in the morningto execute me, and I'm as well as can be expected under it.... May God bless you, dearest Fanny. What Christmas wishes warm from theheart by heartfuls I throw at you! And say to Ellen Heaton, with cordiallove, that I thank her much for her kind letter, and remember her in allaffectionate wishes made for friends. I shall write to Mr. Ruskin. _Don't_ get this letter, I say. YourE. B. B. Robert's love, and _Penini's_. If 'Fanny' strikes you, 'Madame Bovary'will thunder-strike you. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ 43 Via di Leone, Rome: January 7, 18[54]. It is long, my ever dearest Miss Mitford, since I wrote to you last, butsince we came to Rome we have had troubles, out of the deep pit of whichI was unwilling to write to you, lest the shadows of it should cleave asblots to my pen. Then one day followed another, and one day's work waslaid on another's shoulders. Well, we are all well, to begin with, andhave been well; our troubles came to us through sympathy entirely. Amost exquisite journey of eight days we had from Florence to Rome, seeing the great monastery and triple church of Assisi and the wonderfulTerni by the way--that passion of the waters which makes the human heartseem so still. In the highest spirits we entered Rome, Robert and Peninisinging actually; for the child was radiant and flushed with thecontinual change of air and scene, and he had an excellent scheme about'tissing the Pope's foot, ' to prevent his taking away 'mine gun, 'somebody having told him that such dangerous weapons were not allowed bythe Roman police. You remember my telling you of our friends theStorys--how they and their two children helped to make the summer gopleasantly at the baths of Lucca? They had taken an apartment for us inRome, so that we arrived in comfort to lighted fires and lamps as ifcoming home, and we had a glimpse of their smiling faces that evening. In the morning, before breakfast, little Edith was brought over to us bythe manservant with a message--'The boy was in convulsions; there wasdanger. ' We hurried to the house, of course, leaving Edith with Wilson. Too true! All that first day was spent beside a death-bed; for the childnever rallied, never opened his eyes in consciousness, and by eight inthe evening he was gone. In the meanwhile, Edith was taken ill at ourhouse--could not be moved, said the physicians. We had no room for her, but a friend of the Storys on the floor immediately below--Mr. Page, theartist--took her in and put her to bed. Gastric fever, with a tendencyto the brain, and within two days her life was almost despaired of;exactly the same malady as her brother's. Also the English nurse wasapparently dying at the Storys' house, and Emma Page, the artist'syoungest daughter, sickened with the same symptoms. Now you will notwonder that, after the first absorbing flow of sympathy, I fell into aselfish human panic about my child. Oh, I 'lost my head, ' said Robert;and if I _could_ have caught him up in my arms and run to the ends ofthe world, the hooting after me of all Rome could not have stopped me. Iwished--how I wished!--for the wings of a dove, or any unclean bird, tofly away with him to be at peace. But there was no possibility but tostay; also the physicians assured me solemnly that there was nocontagion possible, otherwise I would have at least sent him from us toanother house. To pass over this dreary time, I will tell you at oncethat the three patients recovered; only in poor little Edith's caseRoman fever followed the gastric, and has persisted so, ever since, inperiodical recurrence, that she is very pale and thin. Roman fever isnot dangerous to life--simple fever and ague--but it is exhausting ifnot cut off, and the quinine fails sometimes. For three or four days nowshe has been free from the symptoms, and we are beginning to hope. Nowyou will understand at once what ghastly flakes of death have changedthe sense of Rome to me. The first day by a death-bed! The first driveout to the cemetery, where poor little Joe is laid close to Shelley'sheart (_Cor cordium_, says the epitaph), and where the mother insistedon going when she and I went out in the carriage together. I am horriblyweak about such things. I can't look on the earth-side of death; Iflinch from corpses and graves, and never meet a common funeral withouta sort of horror. When I look deathwards I look _over_ death, andupwards, or I can't look that way at all. So that it was a strugglewith me to sit upright in that carriage in which the poor strickenmother sate so calmly--not to drop from the seat, which would have beenworse than absurd of me. Well, all this has blackened Rome to me. Ican't think about the Cæsars in the old strain of thought; the antiquewords get muddled and blurred with warm dashes of modern, every-daytears and fresh grave-clay. Rome is spoiled to me--there's the truth. Still, one lives through one's associations when not too strong, and Ihave arrived at almost enjoying some things--the climate, for instance, which, though perilous to the general health, agrees particularly withme, and the sight of the blue sky floating like a sea-tide through thegreat gaps and rifts of ruins. We read in the papers of a tremendouslycold winter in England and elsewhere, while I am able on most days towalk out as in an English summer, and while we are all forced to takeprecautions against the sun. Also Robert is well, and our child has notdropped a single rose-leaf from his radiant cheeks. We are verycomfortably settled in rooms turned to the sun, and do work and play byturns--having almost too many visitors--hear excellent music at Mrs. Sartoris's (Adelaide Kemble) once or twice a week, and have Fanny Kembleto come and talk to us with the doors shut, we three together. This ispleasant. I like her decidedly. If anybody wants small-talk by handfulsof glittering dust swept out of salons, here's Mr. Thackeray besides;and if anybody wants a snow-man to match Southey's snow-woman (see'Thalaba'), here's Mr. Lockhart, who, in complexion, hair, conversation, and manners, might have been made out of one of your English'_drifts_'--'sixteen feet deep in some places, ' says Galignani. Also, here's your friend _V. _--Mrs. Archer Clive. [31] We were at her house theother evening. She seems good-natured, but what a very peculiar personas to looks, and even voice and general bearing; and what a peculiarunconsciousness of peculiarity. I do not know her much. I go out verylittle in the evening, both from fear of the night air and fromdisinclination to stir. Mr. Page, our neighbour downstairs, pleases memuch, and you ought to know more of him in England, for his portraitsare like Titian's--flesh, blood, and soul. I never saw such portraitsfrom a living hand. He professes to have discovered secrets, and plainly_knows_ them, from his wonderful effects of colour on canvas--not merelyin words. His portrait of Miss Cushman is a miracle. Gibson's famouspainted Venus is very pretty--that's my criticism. Yes, I will saybesides that I have seldom, if ever, seen so indecent a statue. Thecolouring with an approximation to flesh tints produces that effect, tomy apprehension. I don't like this statue colouring--no, not at all. Dearest Miss Mitford, will you write to me? I don't ask for a longletter, but a letter--a letter. And I entreat you not to _prepay_. Amongother disadvantages, that prepaying tendency of yours may lose me aletter one day. I want much to hear how you are bearing the winter--howyou are. Give me details about your dear self. [_The remainder of this letter is missing_] * * * * * _To Mr. Westwood_ 43 Via Bocca di Leone, Rome: February 2, [1854]. Thank you, my dear Mr. Westwood, for your kind defence of me against thestupid, blind, cur-dog backbiting of the American writer. I will tellyou. Three weeks ago I had a letter from my brother, apprising me ofwhat had been said, and pressing on me the propriety of a contradictionin form. Said I in reply: 'When you marry a wife, George, take her fromthe class of those who have never printed a book, if this thing vexesyou. A woman in a crowd can't help the pushing up against her of dirtycoats; happy if somebody in boots does not tread upon her toes! Wordsto that effect, I said. I really could not do the American the honour ofsitting down at the table with him to say: 'Sir, you are considerablymistaken. ' He was not only mistaken, you see, but so stupid andself-willed in his mistake, so determined to make a system of it, but hewas too disreputable to set right. Also of the tendency of one'swritings one's readers are the best judges. I don't profess to write areligious commentary on my writings. I am content to stand by theobvious meaning of what I have written, according to the common sense ofthe general reader. The tendency of my writings to Swedenborgianism has been observed byothers, though I had read Swedenborg, when I wrote most of them, aslittle as the American editor of 'Robert Hall' can have done, and lesscan't be certainly. Otherwise, the said editor would have known that thecentral doctrine of Swedenborgianism being the Godhead of Jesus Christ, no Unitarian, liberal or unliberal, could have produced worksSwedenborgian in character, and that William and Mary Howitt beingUnitarian (which I believe they are) couldn't have a tendency at thesame time to Swedenborgianism, unless it should be possible for them tobe bolt upright with a leaning to the floor. I speak to a wise man. Judge what I say. For my own part I have thought freely on mostsubjects, and upon the state of the Churches among others, but never atany point of my life, and now, thank God, least of all, have I feltmyself drawn towards Unitarian opinions. I should throw up revelationaltogether if I ceased to recognise Christ as divine. Sectarianism I donot like, even in the form of a State Church, and the Athanasian way ofstating opinions, between a scholastic paradox and a curse, isparticularly distasteful to me. But I hold to Christ's invisible Churchas referred to in Scripture, and to the Saviour's humanity and divinityas they seem to me conspicuous in Scripture, and so you have done mejustice and the American has done me injustice.... Well, I have seen your Mrs. Brotherton, only once, though, because shecan't come to see me at all, and lives too far for me to go in thewinter weather. I shall see more of her presently, I hope, and in themeantime she is very generous to me, and sends me violets, and notesthat are better, and we have a great sympathy on the spiritual subjectswhich set you so in a passion. What do I say? She sends me Greek (ofwhich she does not know a single character), written by her, or rather_through_ her; mystical Greek, from a spirit-world, produced by herhands, she herself not knowing what she writes. The character isbeautifully written, and the separate words are generally correct--suchwords as 'Christ, ' 'God, ' 'tears, ' 'blood, ' 'tempest, ' 'sea, ' 'thunder, ''calm, ' 'morning, ' 'sun, ' 'joy. ' No grammatical construction hitherto, but a significant sort of grouping of the separate words, as if themeaning were struggling out into coherence. My idea is that she is beingexercised in the language, in the _character_, in order to fullerexpression hereafter. Well, you would have us snowed upon with poppiestill we sleep and forget these things. I, on the contrary, would haveour eyes wide open, our senses 'all attentive, ' our souls lifted inreverential expectation. Every _fact_ is a word of God, and I call itirreligious to say, 'I will deny this because it displeases me. ' 'I willlook away from that because it will do me harm. ' Why be afraid of the_truth_? God is in the truth, and He is called also Love. The evilresults of certain experiences of this class result mainly from thesuperstitions and distorted views held by most people concerning thespiritual world. We have to learn--we in the body--that Death does notteach all things. Death is simply an accident. Foolish Jack Smith whodied on Monday, is on Tuesday still foolish Jack Smith. If people who onMonday scorned his opinions prudently, will on Tuesday receive his leastwords as oracles, they very naturally may go mad, or at least dosomething as foolish as their inspirer is. Also, it is no argumentagainst any subject, that it drives people mad who suffer themselves tobe absorbed in it. That would be an argument against all religion, andall love, by your leave. Ask the Commissioners of Lunacy; knock at thedoor of mad-houses in general, and inquire what two causes act almostuniversally in filling them. Answer--love and religion. The commonobjection of the degradation of knocking with the leg of the table, andthe ridicule of the position for a spirit, &c. , &c. , I don't enter intoat all. Twice I have been present at table-experiments, and each time Iwas deeply impressed--impressed, there's the word for it! The pantingand shivering of that dead dumb wood, the human emotion conveyed throughit--by what? had to me a greater significance than the St. Peter's ofthis Rome. O poet! do you not know that poetry is not confined to theclipped alleys, no, nor to the blue tops of 'Parnassus hill'? Poetry iswhere we live and have our being--wherever God works and manunderstands. Hein! ... If you are in a dungeon and a friend knocksthrough the outer wall, spelling out by knocks the words you comprehend;you don't think the worse of the friend standing in the sun whoremembers you. He is not degraded by it, you rather think. Now applythis. Certainly, there is a reaction from the materialism of the age, and this is certainly well, in my mind, but then there is something morethan this, more than a mere human reaction, I believe. I have not thepower of writing myself at all, though I have felt the pencil turn in myhand--a peculiar spiral motion like the turning of the tables, andindependent of volition, but the power is not with me strong enough tomake words or letters even. We see a good deal of Fanny Kemble, a noble creature, and hear hersister sing--Mrs. Sartoris. Do admit a little society. It is good forsoul and body, and on the Continent it is easy to get a handful ofsociety without paying too dear for it. That, I think, is an advantageof Continental life. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ 43 Via Bocca di Leone, Rome: March 19, 1854. My dearest Miss Mitford, --Your letter made my heart ache. It is sad, sadindeed, that you should have had this renewed cold just as you appearedto be rallying a little from previous shocks, and I know how depressingand enfeebling a malady the influenza is. It's the vulture finishing thework of the wolf. I pray God that, having battled through this lastattack, you may be gradually strengthened and relieved by the incomingof the spring (though an English spring makes one shiver to think ofgenerally), and with the summer come out into the garden, to sit in achair and be shone upon, dear, dear friend. I shall be in England then, and get down to see you this time, and I tenderly hold to the dear hopeof seeing you smile again, and hearing you talk in the old way.... We see a good deal of the Kembles here, and like them both, especiallythe Fanny, who is looking magnificent still, with her black hair andradiant smile. A very noble creature, indeed. Somewhat unelastic, unpliant to the eye, attached to the old modes of thought andconvention, but noble in quality and defects; I like her much. Shethinks me credulous and full of dreams, but does not despise me for thatreason, which is good and tolerant of her, and pleasant, too, for Ishould not be quite easy under her contempt. Mrs. Sartoris is genial andgenerous, her milk has had time to stand to cream, in her happy familyrelations. The Sartoris's house has the best society at Rome, andexquisite music, of course. We met Lockhart there, and my husband sees agood deal of him--more than I do, because of the access of cold weatherlately which has kept me at home chiefly. Robert went down to theseaside in a day's excursion with him and the Sartoris's; and, I hear, found favor in his sight. Said the critic: 'I like Browning, he isn't atall like a damned literary man. ' That's a compliment, I believe, according to your dictionary. It made me laugh and think of youdirectly. I am afraid Lockhart's health is in a bad state; he looks veryill, and every now and then his strength seems to fail. Robert has beensitting for his picture to Fisher, the English artist, who painted Mr. Kenyon and Landor; you remember those pictures in Mr. Kenyon's house?Landor's was praised much by Southey. Well, he has painted Robert, andit is an admirable likeness. [32] The expression is an exceptionalexpression, but highly characteristic; it is one of Fisher's best works. Now he is about our Wiedeman, and if he succeeds as well in paintingangels as men, will do something beautiful with that seraphic face. Youare to understand that these works are done by the artist _for_ theartist. Oh, we couldn't afford to have such a luxury as a portrait donefor us. But I am pleased to have a good likeness of each of my treasures_extant_ in the possession of somebody. Robert's will, of course, beeminently saleable, and Wiedeman's too, perhaps, for the beauty's sake, with those blue far-reaching eyes, and that innocent angel face emplumedin the golden ringlets! Somebody told me yesterday that she never hadknown, in a long experience of children, so attractive a child. He is sofull of sweetness and vivacity together, of imagination and grace. Apoetical child really, and in the best sense. Such a piece of innocenceand simplicity with it all, too! A child you couldn't lie to if youtried. I had a fit of remorse for telling him the history of Jack andthe Beanstalk, when he turned his earnest eyes up to me at the end andsaid, 'I think, if Jack went up so high, he must have seen God. ' To see those two works through the press must be a fatigue to you inyour present weak state, dearest friend, and I keep wishing vainly Icould be of use to you in the matter of the proof sheets. I might, youknow, if I were in England. I do some work myself, but doubt muchwhether I shall be ready for the printers by July; no, indeed, it isclear I shall not. If Robert is, it will be well. Doesn't it surpriseyou that Alexander Smith should be already in a third edition? I can'tmake it out for my part. I 'give it up' as is my way with riddles. He isboth too bad and too good to explain this phenomenon, which is harder tome than any implied in the turning tables or involuntary writing. By theway, a lady whom I know here _writes Greek_ without knowing or havingever known a single letter of it. The unbelievers writhe under it. Oh, I have been reading poor Haydon's biography. There is tragedy! Thepain of it one can hardly shake off. Surely, surely, wrong was donesomewhere, when the worst is admitted of Haydon. For himself, lookingforward beyond the grave, I seem to understand that all things when mostbitter worked ultimate good to him, for that sublime arrogance of hiswould have been fatal perhaps to the moral nature if developed furtherby success. But for the nation we had our duties, and we should notsuffer our teachers and originators to sink thus. It is a book writtenin blood of the heart. Poor Haydon! May God bless you, my dear friend! I think of you and love you dearly, Robert's love, put to mine, and Penini's love put to Robert's. I giveaway Penini's love as I please just now. Your ever affectionateE. B. B. Send my bulletins; only _two lines_ if you will. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Rome: about March, 1854. ] My dearest Sarianna, --We are all well, and so is the weather, which isdiviner. We sit with the windows wide open, and find it almost too warm, and to-day Robert and I have been wandering under the trees of thePincio and looking to the Monte Marino pine. Let the best come, I don'tlike Rome, I never shall; and as they have put into the Englishnewspapers that I don't, I might as well acknowledge the barbarism. Veryglad I shall be to see you and Paris, even though my beloved Florenceshall be left behind. Dearest Sarianna, after a short rest at Paris, wego on to London for the printing of Robert's book (mine won't be readytill later in the year), and for the sight of some dear English faceswhile the weather shall admit of it, before we settle for the winter inFrance. Well, you will go with us to England, won't you? The dearnonno[33] will spare you to go with us? It will do you good, and it willdo us good, certainly. I quite agree with you that there's no situation like the ChampsElysées--really, there is scarcely anything like it in Europe, if youput away Venice--for a situation in a city. The worst of the Champs Elysées is that it is out of the way, andexpensive on the point of carriages when you can't walk far. People tellyou, too, that the air is sharper at the end of the avenue; yet the sunis so brilliant as to make amends for the disadvantage, if it exists. Then you pay more for houses on account of the concourse of English. Andwhat if I object a little to the English besides? If I do, thedesirableness of the pure air and free walking for Peninicounterbalances them. The Thackeray girls have had the scarlatina at Naples, and have beenvery desolate, I fear, without a female servant or friend near them. They probably were indisposed towards Naples by their own illness (whichwas slight, however; the scarlet fever is always slight in Italy theysay), and by their father's more serious attack, for I have heard verydifferent accounts of the Neapolitan weather. Still, it has been anabnormal winter everywhere, and there are cold winds on that coast oncertain months of the year always. Lockhart has gone away with the Dukeof Wellington, who was in deep consideration how he should manage hisfuneral on the road. Robert was present when the question was mooted onthe Duke's last evening. _Should_ he send the body to England or buryit? Would it be delicate to ask Lockhart which he preferred? Somebodysaid: 'Suppose you were to ask what he would do with your body if youdied yourself. ' I am afraid poor Lockhart is really in a dangerous stateof health, and that it would have been better if he had had somethingtenderer and more considerate than a dukedom travelling with him underhis circumstances. He called upon us, and took a great fancy to Robert, I understand, as being 'not at all like a damned literary man. ' Penini is overwhelmed with attentions and gifts of all kinds, andgenerally acknowledged as the king of the children here. Mrs. Page, thewife of the distinguished American artist, gave a party in honor of himthe other day. There was an immense cake inscribed '_Penini_' in sugar;and he sat at the head of the table and did the honors. You never saw achild so changed in point of shyness. He will go anywhere with anybody, and talk, and want none of us to back him. Wilson is only instructed notto come till it is 'velly late' to fetch him away. He talks to FannyKemble, who 'dashes' most people. 'I not aflaid of nossing, ' says he, inhis eloquent English. Mr. Fisher's cartoon of him is very pretty, butdoesn't do him justice in the delicacy of the lower part of the face. Yet I can't complain of Mr. Fisher after the admirable likeness he haspainted of Robert. It is really _satisfying_ to me. You will see it inLondon. Oh, how cruel it is that we can't buy it, Sarianna; I have asort of hope that Mr. Kenyon may--but zitto, zitto![34] Arabel will bevery grateful to you for the drawings.... [_Endorsed by Miss Browning_, '_Part of a letter_'] * * * * * The plans, thus confidently spoken of, for a visit to Paris and Londonin the summer of this year, did not attain fulfilment. The Browningsleft Rome for Florence about the end of May, intending to stay thereonly a few weeks; but their arrangements were altered by lettersreceived from England, and ultimately they remained in Florence untilthe summer of the following year. Whether for this reason, or becausethe poems were not, after all, ready for press, the printing of Mr. Browning's new volumes ('Men and Women') was also postponed, and theydid not appear until 1855; while 'Aurora Leigh' was still a long wayfrom completion. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ Rome: May 10, 1854. My ever dearest Miss Mitford, --Your letter pained me to a degree which Iwill not pain you by expressing farther. Now, I do not write to pressfor another letter. On the contrary, I _entreat_ you not to attempt towrite a word to me with your own hand, until you can do so withouteffort and suffering. In the meanwhile, would it be impossible for K. Tosend me in one line some account of you? I don't mean to tease, but Ishould be very glad and thankful to have news of you though in thebriefest manner, and if a letter were addressed to me at Poste Restante, Florence, it would reach me, as we rest there on our road to Paris andLondon. In any case I shall see you this summer, if it shall please God;and stay with you the half hour you allow, and kiss your dear hands andfeel again, I hope, the brightness of your smile. As the green summercomes on you must be the better surely; if you can bear to lie out underthe trees, the general health will rally and the local injury correctitself. You must have a strong, energetic vitality; and, after all, spinal disorders do not usually attack life, though they disable andoverthrow. The pain you endure is the terrible thing. Has a localapplication of chloroform been ever tried? I catch at straws, perhaps, with my unlearned hands, but it's the instinct of affection. While yousuffer, my dear friend, the world is applauding you. I catch sight ofstray advertisements and fragmentary notices of 'Atherton, ' which seemsto have been received everywhere with deserved claps of hands. This willnot be comfort to you, perhaps; but you will feel the satisfaction whichevery workman feels in successful work. I think the edition of plays andpoems has not yet appeared, and I suppose there will be nothing in_that_ which can be new to us. 'Atherton' I thirst for, but the cup willbe dry, I dare say, till I get to England, for new books even atFlorence take waiting for far beyond all necessary bounds. We shall notstay long in Tuscany. We want to be in England late in June or veryearly in July, and some days belong to Paris as we pass, since Robert'sfamily are resident there. To leave Rome will fill me with barbariancomplacency. I don't pretend to have a rag of sentiment about Rome. It'sa palimpsest Rome--a watering-place written over the antique--and Ihaven't taken to it as a poet should, I suppose; only let us speak thetruth, above all things. I am strongly a creature of association, andthe associations of the place have not been personally favorable to me. Among the rest my child, the light of my eyes, has been more unwelllately than I ever saw him in his life, and we were forced three timesto call in a physician. The malady was not serious, it was just theresult of the climate, relaxation of the stomach, &c. , but the end isthat he is looking a delicate, pale, little creature, he who was radiantwith all the roses and stars of infancy but two months ago. Thepleasantest days in Rome we have spent with the Kembles--the twosisters--who are charming and excellent, both of them, in differentways; and certainly they have given us some exquisite hours on theCampagna, upon picnic excursions, they and certain of their friends--forinstance, M. Ampère, the member of the French Institute, who is wittyand agreeable; M. Gorze, the Austrian Minister, also an agreeable man;and Mr. Lyons, the son of Sir Edmund, &c. The talk was almost toobrilliant for the sentiment of the scenery, but it harmonised entirelywith the mayonnaise and champagne. I should mention, too, Miss Hosmer(but she is better than a talker), the young American sculptress, who isa great pet of mine and of Robert's, and who emancipates the eccentriclife of a perfectly 'emancipated female' from all shadow of blame by thepurity of hers. She lives here all alone (at twenty-two); dines andbreakfasts at the _cafés_ precisely as a young man would; works from sixo'clock in the morning till night, as a great artist must, and this withan absence of pretension and simplicity of manners which accord ratherwith the childish dimples in her rosy cheeks than with her broadforehead and high aims. The Archer Clives have been to Naples, but havereturned for a time. Mr. Lockhart, who went to England with the Duke ofWellington (the same prepared to bury him on the road), writes to Mrs. Sartoris that he has grown much better under the influence of the nativebeef and beer. To do him justice he looked, when here, innocent of therecollection even of either. I wonder if you have seen Mrs. Howe'spoems, lately out, called 'Passion Flowers. ' They were sent to me by anAmerican friend but were intercepted _en route_, so that I have not seteyes on them yet, but one or two persons, not particularly reliable ascritics, have praised them to me. She is the wife of Dr. Howe, the deafand dumb philanthropist, and herself neither deaf nor dumb (very muchthe contrary) I understand--a handsome woman and brilliant in society. Igossip on to you, dearest dear Miss Mitford, as if you were in gossipinghumour. Believe that my tender thoughts, deeper than any said, are withyou always. Robert's love with that of your attachedBA. We go on the 22nd of this month. You have seen Mr. Chorley's book, Idaresay, which I should like much to see. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ Casa Guidi: Thursday, [end of May 1854]. My dearest Sarianna, --I am delighted to say that we have arrived, andsee our dear Florence, the queen of Italy, after all. On the road I saidto Penini, 'Make a poem about Florence. ' Without a moment's hesitationhe began, 'Florence is more pretty of all. Florence is a beauty. Florence was born first, and then Rome was born. And Paris was bornafter. ' Penini is always _en verve_. He's always ready to make a poem onany subject, and doesn't ask you to wait while he clears his voice. Thedarling will soon get over the effect of that poisonous Roman air, I dotrust, though it is humiliating to hear our Florentines wailing over theloss of bloom and dimples; it doesn't console me that his amount ofgrowth is properly acknowledged. Well, good milk and good air will dotheir work in a little time with God's blessing, and a most voraciousappetite is developed already, I am glad to say. Even in the journey herevived, the blue marks under the darling eyes fading gradually away, and now he looks decidedly better, though unlike himself of two monthsago. You are to understand that the child is perfectly well, and thatthe delicate look is traceable distinctly and only to the attacks he hadin Rome during the last few weeks. Throughout the winter he was radiant, as I used to tell you, and the confessed king of the whole host of hiscontemporaries and country-babies.... _The Kembles_ were our gain in Rome. I appreciate and admire both ofthem. They fail in nothing as you see them nearer. Noble and uprightwomen, whose social brilliancy is their least distinction! Mrs. Sartorisis the more tender and tolerant, the more loveable and sympathetical, perhaps, to me. I should like you to know them both. Then there is thatdear Mr. Page. Yes, and Harriet Hosmer, the young American sculptress, who is an immense favorite with us both. A comfort is that Robert is considered here to be looking better than heever was known to look. And this notwithstanding the greyness of hisbeard, which indeed is, in my own mind, very becoming to him, theargentine touch giving a character of elevation and thought to the wholephysiognomy. This greyness was suddenly developed; let me tell you how. He was in a state of bilious irritability on the morning of his arrivalin Rome from exposure to the sun or some such cause, and in a fit ofsuicidal impatience shaved away his whole beard, whiskers and all! I_cried_ when I saw him, I was so horror-struck. I might have gone intohysterics and still been reasonable; for no human being was ever sodisfigured by so simple an act. Of course I said, when I recoveredbreath and voice, that everything was at an end between him and me if hedidn't let it all grow again directly, and (upon the further advice ofhis looking-glass) he yielded the point, and the beard grew. But it grew_white_, which was the just punishment of the gods--our sins leave theirtraces. Well, poor darling, Robert won't shock you after all, you can't choosebut be satisfied with his looks. M. De Monclar swore to me that he wasnot changed for the intermediate years. Robert talks of money, of waiting for _that_, among other hindrances tosetting out directly. Not _my_ fault, be certain, Sarianna! We seem tohave a prospect of letting our house for a year, which, if the thinghappens, will give us a lift. We spent yesterday evening with Lytton at his villa, meeting there Mr. And Mrs. Walpole, Frederick Tennyson, and young Norton (Mrs. Norton'sson), who married the Capri girl. She was not present, I am sorry tosay. We walked home to the song of nightingales by starlight andfirefly-light. Florence looks to us more beautiful than ever afterRome. I love the very stones of it, to say nothing of the cypresses andriver. Robert says, 'Are you nearly done?' I am done. Give Penini's love andmine to the dear nonno, and tell him (and yourself, dear) how delightedwe shall be [to] have you both. You are prepared to go to England, Ihope. By the way, the weather there is said to be murderous throughbitter winds, but it must soften as the season advances. May God blessyou! I am yours in truest love. BA. We had a very pleasant vettura journey, Robert will have told you. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ Florence: June 6, 1854. Yes, dearest friend, I had your few lines which Arabel sent to me. I hadthem on the very day I had posted my letter to you, and I need not sayhow deeply it moved me that you should have thought of giving me thatpleasure of Mr. Ruskin's kind word at the expense of what I knew to beso much pain to yourself.... We mean to stay at Florence a week or two longer and then go northward. I love Florence, the place looks exquisitely beautiful in itsgarden-ground of vineyards and olive trees, sung round by thenightingales day and night, nay, sung _into_ by the nightingales, for asyou walk along the streets in the evening the song trickles down intothem till you stop to listen. Such nights we have between starlight andfirefly-light, and the nightingales singing! I would willingly stayhere, if it were not that we are constrained by duty and love to go, andat some day not distant, I daresay we shall come back 'for good and all'as people say, seeing that if you take one thing with another, there isno place in the world like Florence, I am persuaded, for a place tolive in. Cheap, tranquil, cheerful, beautiful, within the limit ofcivilisation yet out of the crush of it. I have not seen the Trollopesyet; but we have spent two delicious evenings at villas on the outsidethe gates, one with young Lytton, Sir Edward's son, of whom I have toldyou, I think. I like him, we both do, from the bottom of our hearts. Then our friend Frederick Tennyson, the new poet, we are delighted tosee again. Have you caught sight of his poems? If you have, tell me yourthought. Mrs. Howe's I have read since I wrote last. Some of them aregood--many of the thoughts striking, and all of a certain elevation. Ofpoetry, however, strictly speaking, there is not much; and there's alarge proportion of conventional stuff in the volume. She must be aclever woman. Of the ordinary impotencies and prettinesses of femalepoets she does not partake, but she can't take rank with poets in thegood meaning of the word, I think, so as to stand without leaning. Alsothere is some bad taste and affectation in the dressing of herpersonality. I dare say Mr. Fields will bring you her book. Talking ofAmerican literature, with the publishers on the back of it, we think ofoffering the proofs of our new works to any publisher over the water whowill pay us properly for the advantage of bringing out a volume inAmerica simultaneously with the publication in England. We have heardthat such a proposal will be acceptable, and mean to try it. The wordsyou sent to me from Mr. Ruskin gave me great pleasure indeed, as howshould they not from such a man? I like him personally, too, besides myadmiration for him as a writer, and I was deeply gratified in every wayto have his approbation. His 'Seven Lamps' I have not read yet. Bookscome out slowly to Italy. It's our disadvantage, as you know. Ruskin andart go together. I must tell you how Rome made me some amends after all. Page, the American artist, painted a picture of Robert like an Italian, and then presented it to me like a prince. It is a wonderful picture, the colouring so absolutely _Venetian_ that artists can't (for the mostpart) keep their temper when they look at it, and the breath of thelikeness is literal. [35] Mr. Page has _secrets_ in the art--certainlynobody else paints like him--and his nature, I must say, is equal to hisgenius and worthy of it. Dearest Miss Mitford, the 'Athenæum' is alwaysas frigid as Mont Blanc; it can't be expected to grow warmer for lookingover your green valleys and still waters. It wouldn't be Alpine if itdid. They think it a point of duty in that journal to shake hands withone finger. I dare say when Mr. Chorley sits down to write an article heputs his feet in cold water as a preliminary. Still, I oughtn't to beimpertinent. He has been very good-natured to _me_, and it isn't hisfault if I'm not Poet Laureate at this writing, and engaged in cursingthe Czar in Pindarics very prettily. 'Atherton, ' meanwhile, wants nobodyto praise it, I am sure. How glad I shall be to seize and read it, andhow I thank you for the gift! May God bless and keep you! I may hearagain if you write soon to Florence, but don't pain yourself for theworld, I entreat you. I shall see you before long, I think. Your ever affectionateE. B. B. Robert's love. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ Florence: July 20, [1854]. My dearest Miss Mitford, --I this moment receive your little note. Itmakes me very sad and apprehensive about you, and I would give all thisbright sunshine for weeks for one explanatory word which might make memore easy. Arabel speaks of receiving your books--I suppose'Atherton'--and of having heard from yourself a very bad account ofyour state of health. Are you worse, my beloved friend? I have beenwaiting to hear the solution of our own plans (dependent upon lettersfrom England) in order to write to you; and when I found our journey toLondon was definitively rendered impossible till next spring, I deferredwriting yet again, it was so painful to me to say to you that ourmeeting could not take place this year. Now, I receive your little noteand write at once to say how sad _that_ makes me. It is the first timethat the expression of your love, my beloved friend, has made me sad, and I start as from an omen. On the other hand, the character you writein is so firm and like yourself, that I do hope and trust you are notsensibly worse. Let me hear by a word, if possible, that the change ofweather has done you some little good. I understand there has scarcelybeen any summer in England, and this must necessarily have been adverseto you. A gleam of fine weather would revive you by God's help. Oh, thatI could look in your face and say, 'God bless you!' as I feel it. MayGod bless you, my dear, dear friend. Our reason for not going to England has not been from caprice, but across in money matters. A ship was to have brought us in something, andbrought us in nothing instead, with a discount; the consequence of whichis that we are transfixed at Florence, and unable even to 'fly to themountains' as a refuge from the summer heat. It has been a greatdisappointment to us all, and to our respective families, my poordarling Arabel especially; but we can only be patient, and I takecomfort in the obvious fact that my Penini is quite well and almost asrosy as ever in spite of the excessive Florence heat. One of the worstthoughts I have is about _you_. I had longed so to see you this summer, and had calculated with such certainty upon doing so. I would have goneto England for that single reason if I could, but I can't; we can'tstir, really. That we should be able to sit quietly still at Florenceand eat our bread and maccaroni is the utmost of our possibilities thissummer. Mrs. Trollope has gone to the Baths of Lucca, and thus I have not seenher. She will be very interested about you, of course. How many hangtheir hearts upon your sickbed, dearest Miss Mitford! Yes, and theirprayers too. The other day, by an accident, an old number of the 'Athenæum' fell intomy hands, and I read for the second time Mr. Chorley's criticism upon'Atherton. ' It is evidently written in a hurried manner, and is quiteinadequate as a notice of the book; but, do you know, I am of opinionthat if you considered it more closely you would lose your impression ofits being depreciatory and cold. He says that the _only fault_ of thework is its _shortness_; a rare piece of praise to be given to a worknowadays. You see, your reputation is at the height; neither he noranother could _help_ you; such books as yours make their own way. The'Athenæum' doesn't give full critiques of Dickens, for instance, and itis arctical in general temperature. I thought I would say this to you. Certainly I _do know_ that Mr. Chorley highly regards you in everycapacity--as writer and as woman--and in the manner in which he namedyou to me in his last letter there was no chill of sentiment nor recoilof opinion. So do not admit a doubt of _him_; he is a sure andaffectionate friend, and absolutely high-minded and reliable; of anintact and even chivalrous delicacy. I say it, lest you might have needof him and be scrupulous (from your late feeling) about making himuseful. It is horrible to doubt of one's friends; oh, I know _that_, andwould save you from it. We had a letter from Paris two days ago from one of the noblest and mostintellectual men in the country, M. Milsand, a writer in the 'DeuxMondes. ' He complains of a stagnation in the imaginative literature, butadds that he is consoled for everything by the 'state of politics. ' YourNapoleon is doing you credit, his very enemies must confess. As for me, I can't write to-day. Your little precious, melancholy notehangs round the neck of my heart like a stone. Arabel simply says sheis afraid from what you have written to her that you must be very ill;she does not tell me what you wrote to her--perhaps for fear of painingme--and now I am pained by the silence beyond measure. Robert's love and warmest wishes for you. He appreciates your kind wordto him. And I, what am I to say? I love you from a very sad and gratefulheart, looking backwards and forwards--and _upwards_ to pray God's lovedown on you! Your ever affectionateE. B. B. , rather BA. Precious the books will be to me. I hope not to wait to read them tillthey reach me, as there is a bookseller here who will be sure to havethem. Thank you, thank you. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ Florence: September 4, 1854. Five minutes do not pass, my beloved friend, since reading this dearletter which has wrung from me tender and sorrowful tears, and answeringit thus. Pray for you? I do not wait that you should bid me. May thedivine love in the face of our Lord Jesus Christ shine upon you day andnight, and make all our human loves strike you as cold and dull incomparison with that ineffable tenderness! As to wandering prayers, Icannot believe that it is of consequence whether this poor breath ofours wanders or does not wander. If we have strength to throw ourselvesupon Him for everything, for prayer, as well as for the ends of prayer, it is enough, and He will prove it to be enough presently. I have beenwhen I could not pray at all. And then God's face seemed so close uponme that there was no need of prayer, any more than if I were near _you_, as I yearn to be, as I ought to be, there would be need for this letter. Oh, be sure that He means well by us by what we suffer, and it is whenwe suffer that He often makes the meaning clearer. You know how thatbrilliant, witty, true poet Heine, who was an atheist (as much as a mancan pretend to be), has made a public profession of a change of opinionwhich was pathetic to my eyes and heart the other day as I read it. Hehas joined no church, but simply (to use his own words) has 'returnedhome to God like the prodigal son after a long tending of the swine. ' Itis delightful to go home to God, even after a tending of the sheep. PoorHeine has lived a sort of living death for years, quite deprived of hislimbs, and suffering tortures to boot, I understand. It is not becausewe are brought low that we must die, my dearest friend. I hope--I do notsay 'hope' for _you_ so much as for _me_ and for the many who hang theirhearts on your life--I hope that you may survive all these terriblesufferings and weaknesses, and I take my comfort from your letter, fromthe firmness and beauty of the manuscript; I who know how weak handswill shudder and reel along the paper. Surely there is strength for morelife in that hand. Now I stoop to kiss it in my thought. Feel my kiss onthe dear hand, dear, dear friend. A previous letter of yours pained me much because I seemed to have givenyou the painful trouble in it of describing your state, your weakness. Ah, I _knew_ what that state was, and it was _therefore_ that the slipof paper which came with 'Atherton' seemed to me so ominous! By the way, I shall see 'Atherton' before long, I dare say. The 'German Library' inour street is to have a 'box of new books' almost directly, and in itsurely must be 'Atherton, ' and you shall hear my thoughts of the book assoon as I catch sight of it. Then you have sent me the Dramas. Thankyou, thank you; they will be precious. I saw the article in the'Athenæum' with joy and triumph, and knew Mr. Chorley by the 'Romanhand. ' In the 'Illustrated News' also, Robert (not I) read anenthusiastic notice. He fell upon it at the reading-room where I nevergo on account of my _she_-dom, women in Florence being supposed not-- (_Part of this letter is missing_) Think of me who am far, yet near in love and thought. Love me with thatstrong heart of yours. May God bless it, bless it! I am ever your attachedE. B. B. , rather BA. I have had a sad letter from poor Haydon's daughter. She has fifty-sixpounds a year, and can scarcely live on it in England, and inquires ifshe could live in any family in Florence. I fear to recommend her tocome so far on such means. Robert's love. _May God bless you and keepyou! Love me. _ * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ Florence: October 19, 1854. I will try not to be overjoyed, my dear, dearest Miss Mitford, but, indeed, it is difficult to refrain from catching at hope with bothhands. If the general health will but rally, there is nothing fatalabout a spine disease. May God bless you, give you the best blessing inearth and heaven, as the God of the living in both places. We ought notto be selfish, nor stupid, so as to be afraid of leaving you in Hishands. What is beautiful and joyful to observe is the patience andself-possession with which you endure even the most painfulmanifestation of His will; and that, while you lose none of thatinterest in the things of our mortal life which is characteristic ofyour sympathetic nature, you are content, just as if you felt none, tolet the world go, according to the decision of God. May you be more andmore confirmed and elevated and at rest--being the Lord's, whetherabsent from the body or present in it! For my own part, I have been longconvinced that what we call death is a mere incident in life--perhapsscarcely a greater one than the occurrence of puberty, or therevolution which comes with any new emotion or influx of new knowledge. I am heterodox about sepulchres, and believe that no _part of us_ willever lie in a grave. I don't think much of my nail-parings--do you?--noteven of the nail of my thumb when I cut off what Penini calls the'gift-mark' on it. I believe that the body of flesh is a mere husk whichdrops off at death, while the spiritual body (see St. Paul) emerges inglorious resurrection at once. Swedenborg says, some persons do notimmediately realise that they have passed death, and this seems to mehighly probable. It is curious that Maurice, Mr. Kingsley's friend, about whom so much lately has been written and quarrelled (and who _has_made certain great mistakes, I think), takes this precise view of theresurrection, with an apparent unconsciousness of what Swedenborg hasstated upon the subject, and that, I, too, long before I knewSwedenborg, or heard the name of Maurice, came to the same conclusions. I wonder if Mr. Kingsley agrees with us. I dare say he does, upon thewhole--for the ordinary doctrine seems to me as little taught byScripture as it can be reconciled with philosophical probabilities. Ibelieve in an active, _human_ life, beyond death as before it, anuninterrupted human life. I believe in no waiting in the grave, and inno vague effluence of spirit in a formless vapour. But you'll be tiredwith 'what I believe. ' I have been to the other side of Florence to call on Mrs. Trollope, onpurpose that I might talk to her of you, but she was not at home, thoughshe has returned from the Baths of Lucca. From what I hear, she appearsto be well, and has recommenced her 'public mornings, ' which we shrinkaway from. She 'receives' every Saturday morning in the mostheterogeneous way possible. It must be amusing to anybody notoverwhelmed by it, and people say that she snatches up 'characters' forher 'so many volumes a year' out of the diversities of masks presentedto her on these occasions. Oh, our Florence! In vain do I cry out for'Atherton. ' The most active circulating library 'hasn't got it yet, 'they say. I must still wait. Meanwhile, of course, I am delighted withall your successes, and your books won't spoil by keeping like certainother books. So I may wait. How young children unfold like flowers, and how pleasant it is to watchthem! I congratulate you upon yours--your baby-girl must be a dearforward little thing. But I wish I could show you my Penini, with hisdrooping golden ringlets and seraphic smile, and his talk aboutangels--you would like him, I know. Your girl-baby has avenged my namefor me, and now, if you heard my Penini say in the midst of a coaxingfit--'O, my sweetest little mama, my darling, _dearlest_, little Ba, 'you would admit that 'Ba' must have a music in it, to my ears at least. The love of two generations is poured out to me in that name--and thestream seems to run (in one instance) when alas! the fountain is dry. Ido not refer to the dead who live still. Ah, dearest friend, you feel how I must have felt about the accident inWimpole Street. [36] I can scarcely talk to you about it. There will bepermanent lameness, Arabel says, according to the medical opinion, though the general health was not for a moment affected. But permanentlameness! That is sad, for a person of active habits. I ventured towrite a little note--which was not returned, I thank God--or read, Idare say; but of course there was no result. I never even expected it, as matters have been. I must tell you that our pecuniary affairs arepromising better results for next year, and that we shall not, in allprobability, be tied up from going to England. For the rest--if Iunderstand you--oh no! My husband has a family likeness to Lucifer inbeing proud. Besides, it's not necessary. When literary people aretreated in England as in some other countries, in that case and thattime we may come in for our share in the pensions given by the people, without holding out our hands. Now think of Carlyle--unpensioned! Why, if we sate here in rags, we wouldn't press in for an obolus beforeBelisarius. Mrs. Sartoris has been here on her way to Rome, spendingmost of her time with us--singing passionately and talking eloquently. She is really charming. May God bless and keep you and love you, belovedfriend! Love your own affectionate BA. May it be Robert's love? * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Florence:] November 11, 1854 [postmark]. My dearest Sarianna, --I shall be writing my good deeds in water to-daywith this mere pretence at inks. [37] We are all well, though it is muchtoo cold for me--a horrible tramontana which would create a cough underthe ribs of death, and sets me coughing a little in the morning. I amafraid it's to be a hard winter again this year--or harder than lastyear's. We began fires on the last day of October, after the mostsplendid stretch of spring, summer, and autumn I ever remember. We havetranslated our room into winter--sent off the piano towards the windows, and packed tables, chairs, and sofas as near to the hearth as possible. What a time of anxiety this war time is![38] I do thank God that _we_have no reasons for its being a personal agony, through having anyonevery precious at the post of danger. I have two first cousins there, aHedley, and Paget Butler, Sir Thomas's son. I understand that the gloomin England from the actual bereavements is great; that the frequency ofdeep mourning strikes the eye; that even the shops are filled chieflywith black; and that it has become a sort of _mode_ to wear black orgrey, without family losses, and from the mere force of sympathy. My poor father is still unable to stir from the house, and he has beenunwell through a bilious attack, the consequence of want of exercise. Nothing can induce him to go out in a carriage, because he 'never did inhis life drive out for mere amusement, ' he says. There's what Mr. Kenyoncalls 'the Barrett obstinacy, ' and it makes me uneasy as to the effectof it in this instance upon the general health of the patient. Poordarling Arabel seems to me much out of spirits--'out of humour, ' _she_calls it, dear thing--oppressed by the gloom of the house, and lookingback yearningly to the time when she had sisters to talk to. OhSarianna, I wish we were all together to have a good gossip or groaning, with a laugh at the end!... Your ever affectionate sister, BA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ Florence: November 1854. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --You make me wait and I make you wait forletters. It is bad of us both--and remember, _worse of you_, seeing thatyou left two long letters of mine unanswered for months. I felt as if Ihad fallen down an _oubliette_, and I was about to utter the loudshrieks befitting the occasion, when you wrote at last. Don't treat meso another time; I want to know your plans for the winter, since thewinter is upon us. Next summer, if it pleases God, we shall certainlymeet somewhere--say Paris, say London. We shall have money for it, whichwe had not this year; and now the disappointment's over, I don't care. The heat at Florence was very bearable, and our child grew into hisroses lost at Rome, and we have lived a very tranquil and happy sixmonths on our own sofas and chairs, among our own nightingales andfireflies. There's an inclination in me to turn round with my Peniniand say, 'I'm an Italian. ' Certainly both light and love seem strongerwith me at Florence than elsewhere.... The war! The alliance is the consolation; the necessity is thejustification. For the rest, one shuts one's eyes and ears--the rest istoo horrible. What do you mean by fearing that the war itself may not beall the evil of the war? I expect, on the contrary, a freer politicalatmosphere after this thunder. Louis Napoleon is behaving very tolerablywell, won't you admit, after all? And I don't look to a treason at theend as certain of his enemies do, who are reduced to a 'wait, wait, andyou'll see. ' There's a friend of mine here, a traditional anti-Gallican, and very lively in his politics until the last few months. He can'tspeak now or lift up his eyelids, and I am too magnanimous in oppositionto talk of anything else in his presence except Verdi's last opera, which magnanimity he appreciates, though he has no ear. About a monthago he came suddenly to life again. 'Have you heard the news? Napoleonis suspected of making a secret treaty with Russia. ' The next morning hewas as dead as ever--poor man! It's a desperate case for him. Are you not happy--_you_--in this fast union between England and France?Some of our English friends, coming to Italy through France, say thatthe general feeling towards England, and the affectionate greetings andsympathies lavished upon them as Englishmen by the French everywhere, are quite strange and touching. 'In two or three years, ' said aFrenchman on a railroad, 'French and English, we shall make only onenation. ' Are you very curious about the subject of gossip just nowbetween Lord Palmerston and Louis Napoleon? We hear from somebody inParis, whose _métier_ it is to know everything, that it refers to thereadjustment of affairs in Italy. May God grant it! The Italians havebeen hanging their whole hope's weight upon Louis Napoleon ever since hecame to power, and if he does now what he can for them I shall be proudof my _protégé_--oh, and so glad! Robert and I clapped our handsyesterday when we heard this; we couldn't refrain, though our informantwas reactionary and in a deep state of conservative melancholy. 'Awfulthings were to be expected about Italy, ' quotha! Now do be good, and write and tell me what your plans are for thewinter. We shall remain here till May, and then, if God pleases, gonorth--to Paris and London. Robert and I are at work on our books. Ihave taken to ass's milk to counteract the tramontana, and he is in thetwenty-first and I in the twenty-second volume of Alexandre Dumas's'Memoirs. ' The book is _un peu hasardé_ occasionally, as might beexpected, but extremely interesting, and I really must recommend it toyour attention for the winter if you don't know it already. We have seen a good deal of Mrs. Sartoris lately on her way to Rome(Adelaide Kemble)--eloquent in talk and song, a most brilliant woman, and noble. She must be saddened since then, poor thing, by her father'sdeath. Tell me if it is true that Harriet Martineau has seceded againfrom her atheism? We heard so the other day. Dearest Mrs. Martin, dowrite to me; and do, both of you, remember me, and think of both of uskindly. With Robert's true regards, I am your as ever affectionateBA. Tell me dear Mr. Martin's mind upon politics--in the Austrian andPrussian question, for instance. We have no fears, in spite of Dr. Cumming and the prophets generally, of ultimate results. * * * * * _To Miss Mitford_ Florence: December 11, 1854. I should have written long ago, my dearest Miss Mitford, to try to sayhalf the pleasure and gratitude your letter made for me, but I havebeen worried and anxious about the illnesses, not exactly in my familybut nearly as touching to me, and hanging upon posts from England in apainful way inevitable to these great distances.... I understand that literature is going on flaggingly in England just now, on account of nobody caring to read anything but telegraphic messages. So Thackeray told somebody, only he might refer chiefly to the fortunesof the 'Newcomes, ' who are not strong enough to resist the Czar. Thebook is said to be defective in story. Certainly the subject of the waris very absorbing; we are all here in a state of tremblement about it. Dr. Harding has a son at Sebastopol, who has had already three horseskilled under him. What hideous carnage! The allies are plainlynumerically too weak, and the two governments are much blamed for notreinforcing long ago. I am discontented about Austria. I don't likehandshaking with Austria; I would rather be picking her pocket of herItalian provinces; and, while upon such civil terms, how _can_ we? Yetsomebody, who professes to know everything, told somebody at Paris, whoprofesses to tell everything, that Louis Napoleon and Lord Palmerstontalked much the other day about what is to be done for Italy; and herein Italy we have long been all opening our mouths like so many youngthrushes in a nest, expecting some 'worme small' from your Emperor. Now, if there's an Austrian alliance instead!... Do you hear from Mr. Kingsley? and, if so, how is his wife? I am readingnow Mrs. Stowe's 'Sunny Memories, ' and like the naturalness andsimplicity of the book much, in spite of the provincialism of the toneof mind and education, and the really wretched writing. It's quitewonderful that a woman who has written a book to make the world ringshould write so abominably.... Do you hear often from Mr. Chorley? Mr. Kenyon complains of never seeinghim. He seems to have withdrawn a good deal, perhaps into closeroccupations, who knows? Aubrey de Vere told a friend of ours in Paristhe other day that Mr. Patmore was engaged on a poem which 'was to bethe love poem of the age, ' parts of which he, Aubrey de Vere, had seen. Last week I was vexed by the sight of Mrs. Trollope's card, brought inbecause we were at dinner. I should have liked to have seen her for thesake of the opportunity of talking of _you_. Do you know the engravings in the 'Story without an End'? The picture ofthe 'child' is just my Penini. Some one was observing it the other day, and I thought I would tell you, that you might image him to yourself. Think of his sobbing and screaming lately because of the Evangelist Johnbeing sent to Patmos. 'Just like poor Robinson Crusoe' said he. Iscarcely knew whether to laugh or cry, I was so astonished at thiscrisis of emotion. Robert's love will be put in. May God bless you and keep you, and loveyou better than we all. Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ Casa Guidi: February 13, [1855]. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --How am I to thank you for this most beautifulshawl, looking fresh from Galatea's flocks, and woven by something finerthan her fingers? You are too good and kind, and I shall wrap myself inthis piece of affectionateness on your part with very pleasant feelings. Thank you, thank you. I only wish I could have seen you (though more orless dimly, it would have been a satisfaction) in the face of yourfriend who was so kind as to bring the parcel to me. But I have beenvery unwell, and was actually in bed when he called; unwell with theworst attack on the chest I ever suffered from in Italy. Oh, I shouldhave written to you long since if it had not been for this. For a monthpast or more I have been ill. Now, indeed, I consider myselfconvalescent; the exhausting cough and night fever are gone, I may say, the pulse quiet, and, though considerably weakened and pulled down, thatwill be gradually remedied as long as this genial mildness of theweather lasts. You were quite right in supposing us struck here by thecold of which you complained even at Pau. Not only here but at Pisathere has been snow and frost, together with a bitter wind which myprecaution of keeping steadily to two rooms opening one into anothercould not defend me from. My poor Robert has been horribly vexed aboutme, of course, and indeed suffered physically at one time throughsleepless nights, diversified by such pastimes as keeping fires alightand warming coffee, &c. &c. Except for love's sake it wouldn't be worthwhile to live on at the expense of doing so much harm, but you needn'texhort--I don't give it up. I mean to live on and be well. In the meantime, in generous exchange for your miraculous shawl, I sendyou back sixpence worth of rhymes. They were written for Arabel's RaggedSchool bazaar last spring (she wanted our names), and would not be worthyour accepting but for the fact of their not being purchaseableanywhere. [39] A few copies were sent out to us lately. Half I draw backmy hand as I give you this little pamphlet, because I seem to hear dearMr. Martin's sardonic laughter at my phrase about the Czar. 'If shewink, &c. ' Well, I don't generally sympathise with the boasting mania ofmy countrymen, but it's so much in the blood that, even with _me_, itexceeds now and then, you observe. Ask him to be as gentle with me aspossible. Oh, the East, the East! My husband has been almost frantic on thesubject. We may all cover our heads and be humble. [40] Verily we havesinned deeply. As to ministers, that there is blame I do not doubt. TheAberdeen element has done its worst, but our misfortune is that nobodyis responsible; and that if you tear up Mr. So-and-so and Lord So-and-solimb from limb, as a mild politician recommended the other day, youprobably would do a gross injustice against very well-meaning persons. It's the system, the system which is all one gangrene; the most corruptsystem in Europe, is it not? Here is my comfort. Apart from the dreadfulamount of individual suffering which cries out against us to heaven andearth, this adversity may teach us much, this shock which has struck tothe heart of England may awaken us much, and this humiliation willaltogether be good for us. We have stood too long on a pedestal talkingof our moral superiority, our political superiority, and all our othersuperiorities, which I have long been sick of hearing recounted. Here'san inferiority proved. Let us understand it and remedy it, and not talk, talk, any more. [_Part of this letter has been cut out_] We heard yesterday from the editor of the 'Examiner, ' Mr. Forster, whoexpects some terrible consequence of present circumstances in England, as far as I can understand. The alliance with France is full ofconsolation. There seems to be a real heart-union between the peoples. What a grand thing the Napoleon loan is! It has struck the English withadmiration. I heard, too, among other English news, that Walter Savage Landor, whohas just kept his eightieth birthday, and is as young and impetuous asever, has caught the whooping cough by way of an illustrative accident. Kinglake ('E[=o]then') came home from the Crimea (where he went out andfought as an amateur) with fever, which has left one lung diseased. Heis better, however.... Dearest Mrs. Martin, dearest friends, be both of you well and strong. Shall we not meet in Paris this early summer? May God bless you! Your ever affectionate BA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ Florence: February 24, 1855. The devil (say charitable souls) is not as bad as he is painted, andeven I, dearest Mona Nina, am better than I seem. In the first place, let me make haste to say that I _never received_ the letter you sent meto Rome with the information of your family affliction, and that, if Ihad, it could never have remained an unnoticed letter. I am not sountender, so unsympathising, not so brutal--let us speak out. I lostseveral letters in Rome, besides a good deal of illusion. I did not likeRome, I think I confessed to you. In the second place, when your lastletter reached me--I mean the letter in which you told me to write toyou directly--I _would_ have written directly, but was so very unwellthat you would not have wished me even to try if, absent in the flesh, you had been present in spirit. I have had a severe attack on thechest--the worst I ever had in Italy--the consequence of exceptionallysevere weather--bitter wind and frost together--which quite broke me upwith cough and fever at night. Now I am well again, only of course muchweakened, and grown thin. I mean to get fat again upon cod's liver oil, in order to appear in England with some degree of decency. You know I'ma lineal descendant of the White Cat, and have seven lives accordingly. Also I have a trick of falling from six-storey windows upon my feet, inthe manner of the traditions of my race. Not only I die hard, but I canhardly die. 'Half of it would kill _me_, ' said an admiring friend theother day. 'What strength you must have!' A questionable advantage, except that I have also--a Robert, and a Penini! Dearest friend, I don't know how to tell you of our fullness of sympathyin your late trials. [41] From a word which reached us from England theother day, there will be, I do trust, some effectual arrangement torelieve your friends from their anxieties about you. Then, there shouldbe an increase of the Government pension by another hundred, that iscertain; only the 'should be' lies so far out of sight in the ideal, that nobody in his senses should calculate on its occurrence. As to Law, it's different from Right--particularly in England perhaps--and appealsto Law are disastrous when they cannot be counted on as victorious, always and certainly. Therefore you may be wise in abstaining; you haveconsidered sufficiently, of course. I only hope you are not trammelledin any degree by motives of delicacy which would be preposterous underthe actual circumstances. You meantime are as nobly laborious as ever. We have caught hold of fragments in the newspapers from your'Commonplace Book, ' which made us wish for more; and Mr. Kenyon told meof a kind mention of Robert which was very pleasant to me. How will it be? Shall you be likely to come to Italy before we set outto the north--that is, before the middle of May--or shall we cross onthe road, like our letters, or shall we catch you in London, or in Parisat least? Oh, you won't miss the Exhibition in Paris. That seemscertain. I know Florence Nightingale slightly. She came to see me when we were inLondon last; and I remember her face and her graceful manner, and theflowers she sent me after afterwards. I honor her from my heart. She isan earnest, noble woman, and has fulfilled her woman's duty where manymen have failed. At the same time, I confess myself to be at a loss to see any newposition for the sex, or the most imperfect solution of the 'woman'squestion, ' in this step of hers. If a movement at all, it is retrograde, a revival of old virtues! Since the siege of Troy and earlier, we havehad princesses binding wounds with their hands; it's strictly thewoman's part, and men understand it so, as you will perceive by thegeneral adhesion and approbation on this late occasion of the masculinedignities. Every man is on his knees before ladies carrying lint, calling them 'angelic she's, ' whereas, if they stir an inch as thinkersor artists from the beaten line (involving more good to generalhumanity; than is involved in lint), the very same men would curse theimpudence of the very same women and stop there. I can't see on whatground you think you see here the least gain to the 'woman's question, 'so called. It's rather _the contrary_, to my mind, and, any way, thewomen of England must give the precedence to the _soeurs de charité_, who have magnificently won it in all matters of this kind. For my ownpart (and apart from the exceptional miseries of the war), I acknowledgeto you that I do not consider the best use to which we can put a giftedand accomplished woman is to _make her a hospital nurse_. If it is, whythen woe to us all who are artists! The woman's question is at an end. The men's 'noes' carry it. For the future I hope you will know yourplace and keep clear of Raffaelle and criticism; and I shall expect tohear of you as an organiser of the gruel department in the hospital atGreenwich, that is, if you have the luck to _percer_ and distinguishyourself. Oh, the Crimea! How dismal, how full of despair and horror! The resultswill, however, be good if we are induced to come down from the Englishpedestal in Europe of incessant self-glorification, and learn that ourclose, stifling, corrupt system gives no air nor scope for healthy andeffective organisation anywhere. We are oligarchic in all things, fromour parliament to our army. Individual interests are admitted asobstacles to the general prosperity. This plague runs through all thingswith us. It accounts for the fact that, according to the last marriagestatistics, thirty per cent, of the male population signed with the_mark_ only. It accounts for the fact that London is at once the largestand ugliest city in Europe. For the rest, if we cannot fight righteousand necessary battles, we must leave our place as a nation, and besatisfied with making pins. Write to me, but don't pay your letters, dear dear friend, and I will tell you why. Through some slip somewherewe have had to pay your two last letters just the same. So don't try itany more. Do you think we grudge postage from you? Tell me if it is truethat Harriet Martineau is very ill. What do you hear of her? May God bless you! With Robert's true love, Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * The following letter is the first of a few addressed to Mr. Ruskin, which have been made available through the kindness of Mrs. ArthurSevern. The acquaintanceship with Mr. Ruskin dated from the visit of theBrownings to England in 1852 (see vol. Ii. P. 87, above); but theoccasion of the present correspondence was the recent death of MissMitford, which took place on January 10, 1855. Mr. Ruskin had shown muchkindness to her during her later years, and after her death had writtento Mrs. Browning to tell her of the closing scenes of her friend's life. * * * * * _To Mr. Ruskin_ Florence: March 17, 1855. I have your letter, dear Mr. Ruskin. The proof is the pleasure it hasgiven me--yes, and given my husband, which is better. 'When has aletter given me so much pleasure?' he exclaimed, after reading it; 'willyou write?' I thank you much--much for thinking of it, and I shall bethankful of anything you can tell me of dearest Miss Mitford. I had aletter from her just before she went, written in so firm a hand, and sovital a spirit, that I could feel little apprehension of never seeingher in the body again. God's will be done. It is better so, I am sure. She seemed to me to see her way clearly, and to have as few troublingdoubts in respect to the future life as she had to the imminent end ofthe present. Often we have talked and thought of you since the last time we saw you, and, before your letter came, we had ventured to put on the list ofexpected pleasures connected with our visit to England, fixed for nextsummer, the pleasure of seeing more of Mr. Ruskin. For the rest, therewill be some bitter things too. I do not miss them generally in England, and among them this time will be an empty place where I used always tofind a tender and too indulgent friend. You need not be afraid of my losing a letter of yours. The peril wouldbe mine in that case. But among the advantages of our Florence--the art, the olives, the sunshine, the cypresses, and don't let me forget theArno and mountains at sunset time--is that of an all but infallible postoffice. One loses letters at Rome. Here, I think, we have lost _one_ inthe course of eight years, and for that loss I hold my correspondent toblame. How good you are to me! How kind! The soul of a cynic, at its thirdstage of purification, might feel the value of 'Gold' laid on thebinding of a book by the hand of John Ruskin. Much more I, who am apt toget too near that ugly 'sty of Epicurus' sometimes! Indeed you havegratified me deeply. There was 'once on a time, ' as is said in the fairytales, a word dropped by you in one of your books, which I picked up andwore for a crown. Your words of goodwill are of great price to mealways, and one of my dear friend Miss Mitford's latest kindnesses to mewas copying out and sending to me a sentence from a letter of yourswhich expressed a favorable feeling towards my writings. She knewwell--she who knew me--the value it would have for me, and the courageit would give me for any future work. With my husband's cordial regards, I remain most truly yours, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. Our American friends, who sent to Dresden in vain for your letter, arehere now, but will be in England soon on their way to America, with thehope of trying fate again in another visit to you. Thank you! Also thankyou for your inquiry about my health. I have had a rather bad attack onmy chest (never very strong) through the weather having been colder thanusual here, but now I am very well again--for _me_. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ Florence: April 20, 1855. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --Having nine lives, as I say, I am alive again, and prosperous--thanking you for wishing to know. People look at me andlaugh, because it's a clear case of bulbous root with me--let me pass(being humble) for the onion. I was looking miserable in February, andreally could scarcely tumble across the room, and now I am up on myperch again--nay, even out of my cage door. The weather is divine. Onefeels in one's self why the trees are green. I go out, walk out, haverecovered flesh and fire--my very hair curls differently. '_Is I, I?_' Isay with the metaphysicians. There's something vital about this Florenceair, for, though much given to resurrection, I never made such a leap inmy life before after illness. Robert and I need to run as well as leap. We have quantities of work to do, and small time to do it in. He isfour hours a day engaged in dictating to a friend of ours whotranscribes for him, and I am not even ready for transcription--have nottranscribed a line of my six or seven thousand. We go to England, or atleast to Paris, next month, but it can't be early. Oh, may we meet you!Our little Penini is radiant, and altogether we are all in good spirits. Which is a shame, you will say, considering the state of affairs atSebastopol. Forgive me. I never, at worst, thought that the greattragedy of the world was going on _there_. It was tragic, but there aremore chronic cruelties and deeper despairs--ay, and more exasperatingwrongs. For the rest, we have the most atrocious system in Europe, andwe mean to work it out. Oh, you will see. Your committees nibble on, andthis and that poisonous berry is pulled off leisurely, while the bush tothe root of it remains, and the children eat on unhindered on the otherside. I had hoped that there was real feeling among politicians. But no;we are put off with a fast day. There, an end! I begin to think thatnothing will do for England but a good revolution, and a 'besom ofdestruction' used dauntlessly. We are getting up our vainglories again, smoothing our peacock's plumes. We shall be as exemplary as ever by nextwinter, you will see. Meanwhile, dearest Mrs. Martin, that _you_ should ask me about'Armageddon' is most assuredly a sign of the times. You know I pass forbeing particularly mad myself, and everybody, almost universally, israther mad, as may be testified by the various letters I have to readabout 'visible spirit-hands, ' pianos playing themselves, andflesh-and-blood human beings floating about rooms in company with tablesand lamps. Dante has pulled down his own picture from the wall of afriend of ours in Florence five times, signifying his pleasure that itshould be destroyed at once as unauthentic (our friend burnt itdirectly, which will encourage me to pull down mine by [_word lost_]). Savonarola also has said one or two things, and there are gossipingguardian angels, of whom I need not speak. Let me say, though, thatnothing has surprised me quite so much as _your_ inquiring aboutArmageddon, because I am used to think of you as the least in the worldof a theorist, and am half afraid of you sometimes, and range the chairsbefore my speculative dark corners, that you may not think or see 'howvery wild that Ba is getting!' Well, now it shall be my turn to besensible and unbelieving. There's a forced similitude certainly, in theetymology, between the two words; but if it were full and perfect Ishould be no nearer thinking that the battle of Armageddon could eversignify anything but a great spiritual strife. The terms, taken from asymbolical book, are plainly to my mind symbolical, and Dr. Cumming anda thousand mightier doctors could not talk it out of me, I think. Idon't, for the rest, like Dr. Cumming; his books seem to me very narrow. Isn't the tendency with us all to magnify the great events of our owntime, just as we diminish the small events? For me, I am heretical incertain things. I expect _no_ renewal of the Jewish kingdom, forinstance. And I doubt much whether Christ's 'second coming' will bepersonal. The end of the world is probably the end of a dispensation. What I expect is, a great development of Christianity in opposition tothe churches, and of humanity generally in opposition to the nations, and I look out for this in much quiet hope. Also, and in the meanwhile, the war seems to be just and necessary. There is nothing in it toregret, except the way of conducting it.... Write to me soon again, and tell me as much of both of you as you canput into a letter. May God bless you always! With Robert's warm regards, both of you think of me as Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Braun_ Florence: May 13, [1855]. My dearest Madame Braun, --You have classed me and ticketed me beforenow, I think, as among the ungrateful of the world; yet I am grateful, grateful, grateful! When your book[42] came (how very kind you were tosend it to me!) and when I had said so some five times running, in camesomebody who was _fanatico per Roma_, and reverential in proportion forDr. Braun, who with some sudden appeal to my sensibility--the softerjust then that I was only just recovering strength after a sharp winterattack--swept the volume off the table and carried it off out of thehouse to study the contents at leisure. I expected it back the nextweek, but it lingered. And I really hadn't the audacity to write to youand say, 'Thank you, but I have looked as yet simply at the title-page. 'Well, at last it comes home, and I turn the leaves, examine, read, approve, like Ludovisi and the Belvedere, with a double pleasure ofassociation and become _qualified_ properly to thank you and Dr. Braunfrom Robert and myself for this gift to us and valuable contribution toarchæological literature. I am only sorry I did not get to Rome afterthe book; it would have helped my pleasure so, holding up the lanthornin dark places. So much suggestiveness in combination with so muchspecific information makes a book (or a man) worth knowing. Of late, other hindrances have come to writing this, in the shape ofvarious labours of Hercules, which fall sometimes to Omphale as well. Wego to England in a week or two or three, and we take between us somesixteen thousand lines, eight on one side, eight on the other, whichought to be ready for publication. I have not finished my sevenththousand yet; Robert is at his mark. Then, I have to see that we haveshoes and stockings to go in, and that Penini's little trousers arecreditably frilled and tucked. Then, about twenty letters lie by mewaiting to be answered in time, so as to save me from a mobbing inEngland. Then there are visits to be paid all round in Florence, to makeamends for the sins of the winter; visiting, like almsgiving, being putgenerally in the place of virtue, when the latter is found tooinconvenient. Altogether, my head swims and my heart ticks before theday's done, with positive weariness. For there are Penini's lessons, youare to understand, besides the rest. And 'between the intersections, 'cod liver oil to be taken judiciously, in order to appear before myEnglish friends with due decency of corporeal coverture. Well, now, do tell me, _shall_ you go to England, _you_? You will see myreasons for being very interested. Oh, I hope you won't be snatched awayto Naples, or nailed down at Rome. Railroads open from Marseilles; theExhibition open at Paris! Surely, surely Dr. Braun will go to Paris tosee the Exhibition. His conscience won't let him off. Tell him too, _from me_, that in London he may _see a spirit_ if he will go for it. Ihave a letter from a friend who swears to me he has shaken hands withthree or four--'softer, more thrilling than any woman's hand'--'tenderlytouching'--think of that! The American 'medium' Hume is turning theworld upside down in London with this spiritual influx. Let me remember to tell you. Your paper _was in the_ '_Athenæum_. 'Therefore, if you were not paid for it, it was the more abominable. Robert saw it with his own eyes, printed. When I heard from you that youhad heard nothing, I mentioned the circumstance to Mrs. Jameson in aletter I was writing to her, and I do hope she has not neglected sinceto give you some information at least. You are aware probably of theexcellent effect with which that kind Mrs. Procter has managed a privatesubscription in behalf of dear Mrs. Jameson, in consequence of which shewill be placed in circumstances of ease for the rest of her life. FannyKemble nobly gave a hundred pounds towards this good purpose. Mrs. Jameson spoke in her last letter of coming to Italy this summer, and Idare say we shall have the ill luck to lose her, miss her, cross her _enroute_, perhaps. We hear from dear Mr. Kenyon and from Miss Bayley; each very well andfull of animation. If it were not for them, and my dear sisters, and oneor two other hands I shall care to clasp (beside the spirits!) I wouldgive much not to go north. Oh, we Italians grow out of the English bark;it won't hold us after a time. Such a happy year I have had this last! Ido love Florence so! When Penini says, 'Sono Italiano, voglio essereItaliano, ' I agree with him perfectly. So we shall come back of course, if we live; indeed, we leave this houseready to come back to, meaning, if we can, to let our rooms simply. Little Penini looks like a rose, and has, besides, the understanding andsweetness of a creature 'a little lower than the angels. ' I don't careany less for him than I did, upon the whole. I hear the Sartoris's think of Paris for next winter, and mean to giveup Rome. She has been a good deal secluded, until quite lately, theysay, on account of her father's death and brother's worse than death, which may account in part for any backwardness you may have observed. Asto her 'not liking Dr. Braun, ' do _you_ believe in anybody's not likingDr. Braun? _I_ don't quite. It's more difficult for me to 'receive' thanthe notion of the spiritual hand--'tenderly touching. ' Do you know young Leighton[43] of Rome? If so, you will be glad of thiswonderful success of his picture, [44] bought by the Queen, and applaudedby the Academicians, and he not twenty-five. The lady who brought your book did not leave her name here, so ofcourse she did not _mean_ to be called on. Our kindest regards for dear Dr. Braun, and repeated truest thanks toboth of you. Among his discoveries and inventions, he will invent someday an Aladdin's lamp, and then you will be suddenly potentates, andvanish in a clap of thunder. Till then, think of me sometimes, dearest Madame Braun, as I do of_you_, and of all your great kindness to me at Rome. Ever your affectionateELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. * * * * * _To Mr. Ruskin_ Florence: June 2, 1855. My dear Mr. Ruskin, --I believe I shall rather prove in this letter howmy head turns round when I write it, than explain why I didn't write itbefore--and so you will go on to think me the most insusceptible andleast grateful of human beings--no small distinction in our bad obtuseworld. Yet the truth is--oh, the truth is, that I am deeply grateful toyou and have felt to the quick of my heart the meaning and kindness ofyour words, the worth of your sympathy and praise. One thing especiallywhich you said, made me thankful that I had been allowed to live to hearit--since even to fancy that anything I had written could be the meansof the least good to _you_, is worth all the trumpet blowing of a vulgarfame. Oh, of course, I do not exaggerate, though your generosity does. Iunderstand the case as it is. We burn straw and it warms us. My versescatch fire from you as you read them, and so you see them in that lightof your own. But it is something to be used to such an end by such aman, and I thank you, thank you, and so does my husband, for the deeppleasure you have given us in the words you have written. And why not say so sooner? Just because I wanted to say so fully, andbecause I have been crushed into a corner past all elbow-room for doinganything largely and comfortably, by work and fuss and uncertainty ofvarious kinds. Now it isn't any better scarcely, though it is quitefixed now that we are going from Florence to England--no more of theshadow dancing which is so pretty at the opera and so fatiguing in reallife. We are coming, and have finished most of our preparations;conducted on a balance of--must we go? _may_ we stay? which is so veryinconvenient. If you knew what it is to give up this still dream-life ofour Florence, where if one is over-busy ever, the old tapestries on thewalls and the pre-Giotto pictures (picked up by my husband for so manypauls) surround us ready to quiet us again--if you knew what it is togive it all up and be put into the mill of a dingy London lodging andground very small indeed, you wouldn't be angry with us for being sorryto go north--you wouldn't think it unnatural. As for me, I have allsorts of pain in England--everything is against me, except a few things;and yet, while my husband and I groan at one another, strophe andantistrophe (pardon that rag of Greek!) we admit our compensations--thatit will be an excellent thing, for instance, to see Mr. Ruskin! Are welikely to undervalue that? Let me consider how to answer your questions. My poetry--which you areso good to, and which you once thought 'sickly, ' you say, and why not?(I have often written sickly poetry, I do not doubt--I have been sicklymyself!)--has been called by much harder names, 'affected' for instance, a charge I have never deserved, for I do think, if I may say it ofmyself, that the desire of speaking or _spluttering_ the real truth outbroadly, may be a cause of a good deal of what is called in me carelessand awkward expression. My friends took some trouble with me at onetime; but though I am not self-willed naturally, as you will find whenyou know me, I hope, I never could adopt the counsel urged upon me tokeep in sight always the stupidest person of my acquaintance in order toclear and judicious forms of composition. Will you set me down asarrogant, if I say that the longer I live in this writing and readingworld, the more convinced I am that the mass of readers _never_ receivea poet (you, who are a poet yourself, must surely observe that) withoutintermediation? The few understand, appreciate, and distribute to themultitude below. Therefore to say a thing faintly, because saying itstrongly sounds odd or obscure or unattractive for some reason, to'careless readers, ' does appear to me bad policy as well as bad art. Isnot art, like virtue, to be practised for its own sake first? If wesacrifice our ideal to notions of immediate utility, would it not bebetter for us to write tracts at once? Of course any remark of yours is to be received and considered with allreverence. Only, be sure you please to say, 'Do it differently tosatisfy _me_, John Ruskin, ' and not to satisfy Mr. , Mrs. , and the Missand Master Smith of the great majority. The great majority is themajority of the little, you know, who will come over to you if you don'tthink of them--and if they don't, you will bear it. Am I pert, do you think? No, _don't_ think it. And the truth is, thoughyou may not see that, that your praise made me feel very humble. Nay, Iwas quite _abashed_ at the idea of the 'illumination' of my poem; andstill I keep winking my eyes at the prospect of so much glory. If youwere a woman, I might say, when one feels ugly one pulls down theblinds; but as a man you are superior to the understanding of such afigure, and so I must simply tell you that you honor me over muchindeed. My husband is very much pleased, and particularly pleased thatyou selected 'Catarina, ' which is his favourite among my poems for somepersonal fanciful reasons besides the rest. But to go back. I said that any remark of yours was to be received by mein all reverence; and truth is a part of reverence, so I shall end bytelling you the truth, that I think you quite wrong in your objection to'nympholept. ' Nympholepsy is no more a Greek word than epilepsy, andnobody would or could object to epilepsy or apoplexy as a Greek word. It's a word for a specific disease or mania among the ancients, thatmystical passion for an invisible nymph common to a certain class ofvisionaries. Indeed, I am not the first in referring to it in Englishliterature. De Quincey has done so in prose, for instance, and LordByron talks of 'The nympholepsy of a fond despair, ' though _he_ neverwas accused of being overridden by his Greek. Tell me now if I am notjustified, I also? We are all nympholepts in running after ourideals--and none more than yourself, indeed! Our American friend Mr. Jarves wrote to us full of gratitude andgratification on account of your kindness to him, for which we alsoshould thank you. Whether he felt most overjoyed by the clasp of yourhand or that of a disembodied spirit, which he swears was as real (underthe mediumship of Hume, his compatriot), it was somewhat difficult todistinguish. But all else in England seemed dull and worthless incomparison with those two 'manifestations, ' the spirit's and yours! How very very kind of your mother to think of my child! and how happy Iam near the end of my paper, not to be tempted on into 'descriptions'that 'hold the place of sense. ' He is six years old, he reads Englishand Italian, and writes without lines, and shall I send you a poem ofhis for 'illumination'? His poems are far before mine, the very prattleof the angels, when they stammer at first and are not sure of thepronunciation of _e_'s and _i_'s in the spiritual heavens (seeSwedenborg). Really he is a sweet good child, and I am not bearable inmy conceit of him, as you see! My thankful regards to your mother, whomI shall hope to meet with you, and do yourself accept as much from usboth. Most truly yours, ELIZABETH B. BROWNING. We leave Florence next week, and spend at least a week in Paris, 138Avenue des Champs-Elysées. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ Florence: June 12, 1855 [postmark]. How kind and tender of you, my dearest Sarianna, to care so much to hearthat I am better! I was afraid that Robert had written in the Crimeanstyle about me, for he was depressed and uneasy, poor darling, andlooked at things from the blackest point of view. Nevertheless, I haveescaped some bad symptoms. No spitting of blood, for instance, no lossof voice, and scarcely a threatening of pain in the side. Also I havenot grown thinner than is natural under the circumstances. At Genoa(after our cold journey[45]) I _wasted_ in a few days, and thought muchworse of myself than there was reason to do this time. I can assure you I am now much restored. The cough is decidedly gotunder, and teases me, for the most part, only in the early morning; thefever is gone, and the nights are quiet. I am able to take animal foodagain, and shall soon recover my ordinary strength. Certainly it hasbeen a bad attack, and I never suffered anything like it in Italybefore. The illness at Genoa was the mere _tail_ of what began inEngland, and was increased by the Alpine exposure. Our weather has beenvery severe--wind and frost together--something peculiarly irritating inthe air. I am loth to blame my poor Florence, who never treated me sobefore (and how many winters we have spent here!)--and our friends writefrom Pisa that the weather was as trying there, while from Rome theaccount is simply 'detestable weather. ' At Naples it is sometimesfuriously cold; there's no perfect climate anywhere, that's certain. Youhave only to choose the least evil. Here for the last week it has beenso mild that, if I had been in my usual state of health, I might havegone out, they say; and, of course, I have felt the influencebeneficially. One encourages oneself in Italy when it is cold, with theassurance that it can't last. Our misfortune this time has been that ithas lasted unusually long. How the Italians manage without fires Icannot make out. So chilly as they are, too, it's a riddle. You would wonder almost how I could feel the cold in these two roomsopening into each other, and from which I have not stirred since thecold weather began. Robert has kept up the fire in our bedroomthroughout the night. Oh, he has been spoiling me so. If it had not beenthat I feared much to hurt him in having him so disturbed and worried, it would have been a very subtle luxury to me, this being ill andfeeling myself dear. Do not set me down as too selfish. May God blesshim!... Robert has been frantic about the Crimea, and 'being disgraced in theface of Europe, ' &c. &c. When he is mild he wishes the ministry to betorn to pieces in the streets, limb from limb. I do not doubt that theAberdeen side of the Cabinet has been greatly to blame, but the systemis the root of the whole evil; if they don't tear up the system they maytear up the Aberdeens 'world without end, ' and not better the matter; ifthey do tear up the system, then shall we all have reason to rejoice atthese disasters, apart from our sympathy with individual sufferings. More good will have been done by this one great shock to the heart ofEngland than by fifty years' more patching, and pottering, and knockingimpotent heads together. What makes me most angry is the ministerialapology. 'It's always so with us for three campaigns, '!!! 'it's ourway, ' 'it's want of experience, ' &c. &c. That's precisely the thingcomplained of. As to want of experience, if the French have had Algerineexperiences, we have had our Indian wars, Chinese wars, Caffre wars, andmilitary and naval expenses _exceeding_ those of France from year toyear. If our people had never had to pay for an army, they might sitdown quietly under the taunt of wanting experience. But we havesoldiers, and soldiers should have military education as well as redcoats, and be led by properly qualified officers, instead of LordNincompoop's youngest sons. As it is in the army, so it is in the State. Places given away, here and there, to incompetent heads; nobody beingresponsible, no unity of idea and purpose anywhere--the individualinterest always in the way of the general good. There is a noble heartin our people, strong enough if once roused, to work out into light andprogression, and correct all these evils. Robert is a good deal struckby the generous tone of the observations of the French press, ascontradistinguished from the insolences of the Americans, who really arepast enduring just now. Certain of our English friends here in Florencehave ceased to associate with them on that ground. I think there's agood deal of jealousy about the French alliance. That may account forsomething.... Dearest, kindest Sarianna, remember not to think any more about me, except that I love you, that I am your attached BA. FOOTNOTES: [15] _Life and Letters of Robert Browning_, by Mrs. Sutherland Orr, p. 216. [16] The late Earl Lytton. [17] Auguste Brizieux [18] _Uncle Tom's Cabin_, published in 1852. [19] Mrs. Jameson's _Legends of the Madonna_. [20] General Franklin Pierce. [21] 'Tamerton Church Tower, and other Poems. ' [22] In a letter to Miss Mitford, written four days later than this, Mrs. Browning alludes again to the performance of 'Colombe's Birthday:''Yes--Robert's play succeeded, but there could be no "run" for a play ofthat kind; it was a _succès d'estime_ and something more, which issurprising, perhaps, considering the miserable acting of the men. MissFaucit was alone in doing us justice. ' [23] A few lines have been cut off the letter at this place. [24] A letter to the _Athenæum_ on July 2, 1853, giving the result ofsome experiments in table-turning, the tendency of which was to showthat the motion of the table was due to unconscious muscular action onthe part of the persons touching the table. [25] Senatore Villari. [26] Mr. George Barrett. The omitted passage describes an act ofgenerosity by him to one of his younger brothers. [27] Hardly a successful horoscope of the future Ambassador at Paris andViceroy of India. [28] Afterwards wife of Signor Carlo Botta, an Italian man of letters, with whom she returned to America and lived in New York. [29] This refers to the death of the infant child of the Storys, withwhom Mr. And Mrs. Browning were on intimate terms of friendship, as theprevious letters show. [30] According to Mr. R. B. Browning, this is practically what hashappened with Page's portrait of Robert Browning (now in Venice). Thesurface has become thick and waxy, and the portrait has almostdisappeared. [31] Author of 'IX. Poems, by V. ' (1840). [32] This portrait is now in the possession of Mr. R. B. Browning atVenice. [33] _I. E. _ 'grandfather, ' a name by which Mr. Browning, senior, isfrequently referred to in these letters. [34] 'Hush, hush!' [35] For the subsequent fate of this picture, see note on p. 148, above. [Transcriber's note: Reference is to Footnote [30]. ] [36] To Mr. Barrett. [37] This letter is written in very faint ink. [38] The news of Inkerman had come only a few days before. [39] Mrs. Browning's 'Song for the Ragged Schools of London' (_PoeticalWorks_, iv. 270) and her husband's 'The Twins' were printed together asa small pamphlet for sale at Miss Arabella Barrett's bazaar. Mrs. Browning's poem had been written before they left Rome. [40] The horrors of the Crimean winter were now becoming known, whichfully accounts for this outburst. [41] The death of Mrs. Jameson's husband in 1854 had left her in verystraitened circumstances, which were ultimately relieved, in part, by asubscription among her friends and the admirers of her works. [42] Dr. Braun's _Ruins and Museums of Rome_ (1854). [43] The late Lord Leighton, P. R. A. [44] The picture of Cimabue's Madonna carried in procession through thestreets of Florence. It was exhibited in the Royal Academy Exhibition of1855, and was bought by the Queen. [45] In 1852. CHAPTER IX 1855-1859 About a month after the date of the last letter, Mr. And Mrs. Browningleft Italy for the second time. As on the previous occasion (1851-2), their absence extended over two summers and a winter, the latter beingspent in Paris, while portions of each summer were given up to visits toEngland. Each of them was bringing home an important work forpublication, Mr. Browning's 'Men and Women, ' containing much of his verygreatest poetry, being passed through the press in 1855, while Mrs. Browning's 'Aurora Leigh, ' although more than half of it had beenwritten before she left Florence, was not ready for printing until thefollowing year. They travelled direct from Florence to London, arrivingthere apparently in the course of July, and taking up their quarters at13 Dorset Street. Their stay there was made memorable, as Mrs. Browningrecords below, by a visit from Tennyson, who read to them, on September27, his new poem of 'Maud;' and it was while he was thus employed thatRossetti drew a well-known portrait of the Laureate in pen and ink. Butin spite of glimpses of Tennyson, Ruskin, Carlyle, Kenyon, and otherfriends, the visit to England was, on the whole, a painful one to Mrs. Browning. Intercourse with her own family did not run smooth. One sisterwas living at too great a distance to see her; the other was kept out ofher reach, for a considerable part of the time, by her father. Inaddition, a third member of the Barrett family, her brother Alfred, earned excommunication from his father's house by the unforgivableoffence of matrimony. Altogether it was not without a certain feeling ofrelief that, in the middle of October, Mrs. Browning, with her husbandand child, left England for Paris. The whole visit had been so crowdedwith work and social engagements as to leave little time forcorrespondence; and the letters for the period are consequently few andshort. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ 13 Dorset Street, Baker Street:Tuesday, [July-August 1855]. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --I have waited days and days in the answering ofyour dear, kind, welcoming letter, and yet I have been very verygrateful for it. Thank you. I need such things in England above otherplaces. For the rest, we could not go to Herefordshire, even if I were rational, which I am not; I could as soon open a coffin as do it: there's thetruth. The place is nothing to me, of course, only the string round afaggot burnt or scattered. But if I went there, the thought of _oneface_ which never ceases to be present with me (and which I parted fromfor ever in my poor blind unconsciousness with a pettish word) wouldrise up, put down all the rest, and prevent my having one moment ofordinary calm intercourse with you, so don't ask me; set it down tomania or obstinacy, but I never _could_ go into that neighbourhood, except to die, which I think sometimes I should like. So you may have mesome day when the physicians give me up, but then, you won't, you know, and it wouldn't, any way, be merry visiting. Foolish to write all this! As if any human being could know thoroughlywhat _he_ was to me. It must seem so extravagant, and perhaps affected, even to _you_, who are large-hearted and make allowances. After theseyears! And, after all, I might have just said the other truth, that we are atthe end of our purse, and can't travel any more, not even to Taunton, where poor Henrietta, who is hindered from coming to me by a likepecuniary straitness, begs so hard that we should go. Also, we are boundto London by business engagements; a book in the press (Robert's twovolumes), and _proofs_ coming in at all hours. We have been asked to twoor three places at an hour's distance from London, and can't stir; toKnebworth, for instance, where Sir Edward Lytton wants us to go. Itwould be amusing in some ways; but we are tired. Also Robert's sister isstaying with us. Also, we shall see you in Paris on the way to Pau next November, shallwe not? Write and tell me that we shall, and that you are not disgustedwith me meanwhile. Do you know our news? Alfred is just married at the Paris Embassy toLizzie Barrett.... Of course, he makes the third exile from WimpoleStreet, the course of true love running remarkably rough in our house. For the rest, there have been no _scenes_, I thank God, for dearestArabel's sake. He had written to my father nine or ten days before theceremony, received no answer, and followed up the silence rather brisklyby another letter to announce his marriage.... I am going to write tohim at Marseilles. You cannot imagine to yourself the unsatisfactory and dishearteningturmoil in which we are at present. It's the mad bull and the chinashop, and, _nota bene_, we are the china shop. People want to see ifItaly has cut off our noses, or what! A very kind anxiety certainly, butso horribly fatiguing that my heart sinks, and my brain goes round underthe process. O my Florence! how much better you are! Have you heard that Wilson is married to a Florentine who lived oncewith the Peytons, and is here now with us, a good, tender-heartedman?[46] I am tolerably well, though to breathe this heavy air always strikes meas difficult; and my little Penini is very well, thank God. I want somuch to show him to you. We shall be here till the end of September, ifthe weather admits of it, then go to Paris for the winter, then returnto London, and then--why, _that_ 'then' is too far off to see. Only wetalk of Italy in the distance. My book is not ready for the press yet; and as to writing here, whocould produce an epic in the pauses of a summerset? Not that my poem isan epic, I hurry on to say in consideration for dear Mr. Martin'sfeelings. I flatter myself it's a _novel_, rather, a sort of novel inverse. Arabel looks well. What pens! What ink! Do write, and tell me of _you both_. I love youcordially indeed. Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ 13 Dorset Street: Tuesday, [July-August 1855]. My dearest Mona Nina, --I write to you in the midst of so much fatigueand unsatisfactory turmoil, that I feel I shall scarcely be articulatein what I say. Still, it must be tried, for I can't have you think thatI have come to London to forget you, much less to be callous to theinfluence of this dear affectionate letter of yours. May God bless you!How sorry I am that you should have vexation on the top of more serioushurts to depress you. Indeed, if it were not for the _other side of thetapestry_, it would seem not at all worth while for us to stand puttingin more weary Gobelin stitches (till we turn into goblins) day afterday, year after year, in this sad world. For my part, I am ready atmelancholy with anybody. The air, mentally or physically considered, isvery heavy for me here, and I long for the quiet of my Florence, wheresomehow it always has gone best with my life. As to England, it affectsme so, in body, soul, and circumstances, that if I could not get awaysoon, I should be provoked, I think, into turning monster and _hating_the whole island, which shocks you so to hear, that you will be provokedinto not loving me, perhaps, and _that_ would really be too hard, afterall. The best news I can give you is that Robert has printed the first halfvolume of his poems, and that the work looks better than ever in print, as all true work does brought into the light. He has read these proofsto Mr. Fox (of Oldham), who gives an opinion that the poems are at thetop of art in their kind. I don't know whether you care for Mr. Fox'sopinion, but it's worth more than mine, of course, on the ground of_impartiality_, to say no otherwise, and it will disappoint me much ifyou don't confirm both of us presently. The poems, for variety, vitality, and intensity, are quite worthy of the writer, it seems to me, and a clear advance in certain respects on his previous productions. Has 'Maud' penetrated to you? The winding up is magnificent, full ofpower, and there are beautiful thrilling bits before you get so far. Still, there is an appearance of labour in the early part; the languageis rather encrusted by skill than spontaneously blossoming, and therhythm is not always happy. The poet seems to aim at more breadth andfreedom, which he attains, but at the expense of his characteristicdelicious music. People in general appear very unfavourably impressed bythis poem, _very unjustly_, Robert and I think. On some points it iseven an advance. The sale is great, _nearly five thousand copiesalready_. Let me see what London news I have to tell you. We spent an evening withMr. Ruskin, who was gracious and generous, and strengthened all my goodimpressions. Robert took our friend young Leighton to see himafterwards, and was as kindly received. We met Carlyle at Mr. Forster's, and found him in great force, particularly in the damnatory clauses. Mr. Kinglake we saw twice at the Procters', and once here.... The Proctersare very well. How I like Adelaide's face! that's a face worth a droveof beauties! Dear Mrs. Sartoris has just left London, I grieve to say;and so has Mrs. Kemble, who (let me say it quick in a parenthesis) islooking quite magnificent just now, with those gorgeous eyes of hers. Mr. Kenyon, too, has vanished--gone with his brother to the Isle ofWight. The weather has been very uncertain, cloudy, misty, and rainy, with heavy air, ever since we came. Ferdinando keeps saying, 'Poveragente, che deve vivere in questo posto, ' and Penini catches it up, andgives himself immense airs, discoursing about Florentine skies and theglories of the Cascine to anyone who will listen. The child is well, thank God, and in great spirits, which is my comfort. I found my dearsister Arabel, too, well, and it is deep yet sad joy to me to look inher precious loving eyes, which never failed me, nor could. Henriettawill be hindered, perhaps, from coming to see me by want of means, poordarling; and the same cause will keep me from going to Taunton. We havea quantity of invitations to go into the country, to the Custs, to theMartins, &c. &c. , and (one which rather tempts _me_) to Knebworth, SirEdward Lytton having written us the kindest of possible invitations; butnone of these things are for us, I see. Dearest friend, I do hope you won't go to Rome this winter. When youhave been to Vienna, come back, and let us have you in Paris. I am gladLady Elgin liked the book. The history of it was that she asked Robertto get it for her, and he _presented_ it instead. Our M. Milsand likes you much, he says, and I like you to hear it.... Oh, we read your graceful, spirited letter in the 'Athenæum. ' By theway, did you see the absurd exposition of 'Maud' as an allegory? Whatpure madness, instead of Maudness! * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ 13 Dorset Street: Monday, [August-September 1855]. Day after day, my dearest Mrs. Martin, I have been meaning to write toyou, always in vain, and now I hear from Mrs. Ormus Biddulph that youare not quite well. How is this? Shall I hear soon that you are better?I want something to cheer me up a little. The bull is out of the chinashop, certainly, but the broken pottery doesn't enjoy itself much themore for that. I have lost my Arabel (my one light in London), who hashad to go away to Eastbourne; very vexed at it, dear darling, though shereally required change of air. We, for our parts, are under promise tofollow her in a week, as it will be on our way to Paris, and not cost usmany shillings over the expenses of the direct route. But the days dragthemselves out, and there remains so much work (on proof sheets, &c. ) tobe done here, that I despond of our being able to move as soon as I fainwould. I assure you I am stuffed as hard as a cricket ball with the workof every day, and I have waited in vain for a clear hour to writequietly and comfortably to you, in order to say how your letter touchedme, dear dear friend. You always understand. Your sympathy stretches_beyond_ points of agreement, which is so rare and so precious, andmakes one feel so unspeakably grateful.... London has emptied itself, as you may suppose, by this time. Mrs. OrmusBiddulph was so kind as to wish us to dine with them on Monday (to-day), but we found it absolutely impossible. The few engagements we make wedon't keep, and I shall try for the future to avoid perjury. As it is, Ihave no doubt that various people have set me down as 'full of arroganceand assumption, ' at which the gods must laugh, for really, if truthscould be known, I feel even morbidly humble just now, and could show mysackcloth with anybody's sackcloth. But it is difficult to keep to theconventions rigidly, and return visits to the hour, and hold engagementsto the minute, when one has neither carriage, nor legs, nor time atone's disposal, which is my case. If I don't at once answer (forinstance) such a letter as you sent me, I must be a beggar.... May God bless you both, my very dear friends! My husband bids meremember him to you in cordial regard. I long to see you, and to hear(first) that you are well. Dearest Mrs. Martin's ever attachedBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ 13 Dorset Street: Tuesday, [October 1855]. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --I can't go without writing to you, but I amground down with last things to do on last days, and it must be a wordonly. Dearest friend, I have waited morning after morning for a clearhalf-hour, because I didn't like to do your bidding and write briefly, though now, after all, I am reduced to it. We leave England to-morrow, and shall sleep (D. V. ) at 102 _Rue de Grenelle, Faubourg St. Germain, Paris_, --I am afraid in a scarcely convenient apartment, which a zealousfriend, in spite of our own expressed opinion, secured for us for theterm of six months, because of certain yellow satin furniture which onlyshe could consider 'worthy of us. ' We shall probably have to dress onthe staircase, but what matter? There's the yellow satin to fall backupon. If the rooms are not tenable, we must underlet them, or try.... One of the pleasantest things which has happened to us here is thecoming down on us of the Laureate, who, being in London for three orfour days from the Isle of Wight, spent two of them with us, dined withus, smoked with us, opened his heart to us (and the second bottle ofport), and ended by reading 'Maud' through from end to end, and goingaway at half-past two in the morning. If I had had a heart to spare, certainly he would have won mine. He is captivating with his frankness, confidingness, and unexampled _naïveté_! Think of his stopping in 'Maud'every now and then--'There's a wonderful touch! That's very tender. Howbeautiful that is!' Yes, and it _was_ wonderful, tender, beautiful, andhe read exquisitely in a voice like an organ, rather music than speech. War, war! It is terrible certainly. But there are worse plagues, deepergriefs, dreader wounds than the physical. What of the forty thousandwretched women in this city? The silent writhing of them is to me moreappalling than the roar of the cannons. Then this war is _necessary_ onour sides. Is _that_ wrong necessary? It is not so clear to me. Can I write of such questions in the midst of packing? May God bless you both! Write to me in Paris, and do come soon and findus out. Robert's love. My love to you both, dearest friends. May God bless you!Your ever affectionate BA. * * * * * _To Mr. Ruskin_ 13 Dorset Street:Tuesday morning, October 17, 1855 [postmark]. My dear Mr. Ruskin, --I can't express our amount of mortification inbeing thwarted in the fulfilment of the promise you allowed us to maketo ourselves, that we would go down to you once more before leavingEngland. What with the crush rather than press of circumstances, I havescarcely needed the weather to pin me to the wall. Sometimes my husbandcould not go with me, sometimes I couldn't go with him, and always wewaited for one another in hope, till this last day overtook us. To-morrow (D. V. ) we shall be in Paris. Now, will you believe how we havewished and longed to see you beyond these strait tantalisinglimits?--how you look to us at this moment like the phantasm of a thingdear and desired, just seen and vanishing? What! are you to be rankedamong my spiritualities after all? Forgive me that wrong. Then you had things to say to me, I know, which in your consideration, and through my cowardice, you did not say, but yet will! Will you write to me, dear Mr. Ruskin, sometimes, or have I disgustedyou so wholly that you won't or can't? Once, I know, somewhat because of shyness and somewhat because ofintense apprehension--somewhat, too, through characteristic stupidity(no contradiction this!)--I said I was grateful to you when you had justbade me not. Well, I really couldn't help it. That's all I can say now. Even if your appreciation were perfectly deserved at all points, why, appreciation means sympathy, and sympathy being the best gift nearlywhich one human creature can give another, I don't understand (I nevercould) why it does not deserve thanks. I am stupid perhaps, but for mylife I never could help being grateful to the people who loved me, evenif they happened to say, 'I can't help it! not I!' As for Mr. Ruskin, he sees often in his own light. That's what I see andfeel. Will you write to me sometimes? I come back to it. Will you, though I amawkward and shy and obstinate now and then, and a wicked spiritualist towit--a _realist_ in an out-of-the-world sense--accepting matter as ameans (no matter for it otherwise!)? Don't give me up, dear Mr. Ruskin! My husband's truest regards, andfarewell from both of us! I would fain be Your affectionate friend, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. Our address in Paris will be, _102 Rue de Grenelle, Faubourg St. Germain_. * * * * * The house in the Rue de Grenelle, however, did not prove a success, inspite of the consolations of the yellow satin, and after six weeks ofdiscomfort and house-hunting the Brownings moved to 3 Rue de Colisée, which became their home for the next eight months. It was a period, first of illness caused by the unsuitable rooms, and then of hard workfor Mrs. Browning, who was engaged in completing 'Aurora Leigh, ' whileher husband was less profitably employed in the attempt to recast'Sordello' into a more intelligible form. No such incident as the visitsto George Sand marked this stay in Paris, and politics were in a verymuch less exciting state. The Crimean war was just coming to a close, and public opinion in England was far from satisfied with the conduct ofits ally; but on the whole the times were uneventful. The first letter from Paris has, however, a special interest ascontaining a very full estimate of the character and genius of Mrs. Browning's dear friend, Miss Mitford. It is addressed to Mr. Ruskin, whohad been unceasingly attentive and helpful to Miss Mitford during herdeclining days. * * * * * _To Mr. Ruskin_ Paris, 102 Rue de Grenelle, Faubourg St. Germain:November 5, [1855]. My dear Mr. Ruskin, --I thank you from my heart for your more thaninteresting letter. You have helped me to see that dear friend of ours, as without you I could not have seen her, in those last affecting daysof illness, by the window not only of the house in Berkshire, but of thehouse of the body and of the material world--an open window throughwhich the light shone, thank God. It would be a comfort to me now if Ihad had the privilege of giving her a very very little of the greatpleasure you certainly gave her (for I know how she enjoyed yourvisit--she wrote and told me), but I must be satisfied with the thoughtleft to me, that now _she_ regrets nothing, not even great pleasures. I agree with you in much if not in everything you have written of her. It was a great, warm, outflowing heart, and the head was worthy of theheart. People have observed that she resembled Coleridge in her graniteforehead--something, too, in the lower part of the face--however unlikeColeridge in mental characteristics, in his tendency to abstractspeculation, or indeed his ideality. There might have been, as yousuggest, a somewhat different development elsewhere than inBerkshire--not very different, though--souls don't grow out of theground. I agree quite with you that she was stronger and wider in herconversation and letters than in her books. Oh, I have said so a hundredtimes. The heat of human sympathy seemed to bring out her powerfulvitality, rustling all over with laces and flowers. She seemed to thinkand speak stronger holding a hand--not that she required help orborrowed a word, but that the human magnetism acted on her nature, as itdoes upon men born to speak. Perhaps if she had been a man with a man'sopportunities, she would have spoken rather than written a reputation. Who can say? She hated the act of composition. Did you hear that fromher ever? Her letters were always admirable, but I do most deeply regret that whatmade one of their greatest charms unfits them for the public--I meantheir personal details. Mr. Harness sends to me for letters, and when Ibring them up, and with the greatest pain force myself to examine them(all those letters she wrote to me in her warm goodness andaffectionateness), I find with wonder and sorrow how only a half-pagehere and there _could_ be submitted to general readers--_could_, withany decency, much less delicacy. But no, her 'judgment' was not 'unerring. ' She was too intenselysympathetical not to err often, and in fact it was singular (or seemedso) what faces struck her as most beautiful, and what books as mostexcellent. If she loved a person, it was enough. She made mistakes onecouldn't help smiling at, till one grew serious to adore her for it. Andyet when she read a book, provided it wasn't written by a friend, editedby a friend, lent by a friend, or associated with a friend, her judgmentcould be fine and discriminating on most subjects, especially uponsubjects connected with life and society and manners. Shall I confess?She never taught _me_ anything but a very limited admiration of MissAusten, whose people struck me as wanting souls, even more than isnecessary for men and women of the world. The novels are perfect as faras they go--that's certain. Only they don't go far, I think. It may bemy fault. You lay down your finger and stop me, and exclaim that it's my wayperhaps to attribute a leaning of the judgment through personal sympathyto people in general--that I do it perhaps to _you_. No, indeed. I canquite easily believe that you don't either think or say 'the pleasantestthings to your friends;' in fact, I am sure you don't. You would saythem as soon to your enemies--perhaps sooner. Also, when you began tosay pleasant things to me, you hadn't a bit of personal feeling to makea happy prejudice of, and really I can't flatter myself that you havenow. What I meant was that you, John Ruskin, not being a critic _salmerum_ as the ancients had it, but half critic, and half poet, may berather encumbered sometimes by the burning imagination in you, may beapt sometimes, when you turn the light of your countenance on a thing, to see the thing lighted up as a matter of course, just as we, when wecarried torches into the Vatican, were not perfectly clear how much webrought to that wonderful Demosthenes, folding the marble round him inits thousand folds--how much we brought, and how much we received. Wasit the sculptor or was it the torch-bearer who produced that effect? Andlike doubts I have had of you, I confess, and not only when you havespoken kindly of _me_. You don't mistake by your heart, through loving, but you exaggerate by your imagination, through glorifying. There's mythought at least. But what I meant by 'apprehending too intensely, ' dear Mr. Ruskin, don'task me. Really I have forgotten. I suppose I did mean something, thoughit was a day of chaos and packing boxes--try to think I did therefore, and let it pass. You please me--oh, so much--by the words about my husband. When youwrote to praise my poems, of course I had to bear it--I couldn't turnround and say, 'Well, and why don't you praise him, who is worth twentyof me? Praise my second Me, as well as my Me proper, if you please. 'One's forced to be rather decent and modest for one's husband as well asfor one's self, even if it's harder. I couldn't pull at your coat toread 'Pippa Passes, ' for instance. I can't now. But you have put him on the shelf, so we have both taken courage to sendyou his new volumes, 'Men and Women, ' not that you may say 'pleasantthings' of them or think yourself bound to say anything indeed, but thatyou may accept them as a sign of the esteem and admiration of both ofus. I consider them on the whole an advance upon his former poems, andam ready to die at the stake for my faith in these last, even though thediscerning public should set it down afterwards as only a 'Heretic'sTragedy. ' Our friend Mr. Jarves came to read a part of your letter to us, confirmatory of doctrines he had heard from us on an earlier day. Theidea of your writing the art criticisms of the 'Leader' (!) was sostupendously ludicrous, there was no need of faith in your loyalty tolaugh the whole imputation, at first hearing, to uttermost scorn. I mustsay, in justice to Mr. Jarves, that he never did really believe one wordof it, though a good deal ruffled and pained that it should have beenbelieved by anybody. He is full of admiring and grateful feeling foryou, and has gone on to Italy in that mind. As for me, I almost yearn to go too. We have fallen into a pit here inParis, upon evil days and rooms, an impulsive friend having taken anapartment for us facing the east, insufficiently protected, and with abedroom wanting, so that we are still waiting, with trunks unpacked, andour child sleeping on the floor, till we can get emancipated anyhow. Then, through the last week's cold, I have not been well--only it willnot, I think, be much, as I am better already, and there will be nopractical end to the talk of Nice and Pau, which my husband had begun alittle. All this has hindered me from following my first impulse ofthanking you for your letter immediately. How beautiful Paris is, and how I agree with you, as we both did withdear Miss Mitford, on the subject of Louis Napoleon. I approve of him_exactly because_ I am a democrat, and not at all for an exceptionalreason. I hold that the most democratical government in Europe is outand out the French Government (which doesn't exclude the absolutistelement, far from it); but who in England understands this? and that therepresentative man of France, the incarnate republic, is the man LouisNapoleon? An extraordinary man he is. I never was a Buonapartist, thoughthe legend of the First Napoleon has wrung tears from me before now, andI was very sorry when Louis Napoleon was elected instead of Cavaignac. At the _coup d'état_ I was not sorry. And since then I have believed inhim more and more. So far in sympathy. In regard to the slaves, no, no, no; I belong to afamily of West Indian slaveholders, and if I believed in curses, Ishould be afraid. I can at least thank God that I am not an American. How you look serenely at slavery, I cannot understand, and I distrustyour power to explain. Do you indeed? Dear Mr. Ruskin, do let us hear from you sometimes. It is such a greatgift, a letter of yours. Then remember that I am a spirit in prison allthe winter, not able to stir out. Up to this time we have lived _perdus_from all our acquaintances because of our misfortunes. With my husband'scordial regards, I remain most truly yours always, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. The publishers are directed to send you the volumes on theirpublication. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ [Paris] 3 Rue du Colisée, Avenue des Champs-Elysées:Saturday, December 17, 1855 [postmark]. How pleasant, dearest Mona Nina, to hear you, though the voice soundsfar! Try and come back to us soon, and let us talk, or listen, rather, to your talking. Why shouldn't _I_, too, have a sister of charity, likeothers? I appeal to you. Still, I have only good to tell you of myself. I am better through thebetter weather and through our arrival in this apartment, where, asRobert says, we are as pleased as if we had never lived in a housebefore. Well, I assure you the rooms are perfect in comfort andconvenience; not large, but _warm_, and of a number and arrangementwhich exclude all fault-finding. Clean, carpeted; no glitter, nothingvery pretty--not even the clocks--but with sofas and chairs suited tolollers such as one of us, and altogether what I mean whenever I saythat an 'apartment' on the Continent is twenty times more really'comfortable' than any of your small houses in England. Robert has aroom to himself too. It's perfect. I hop about from one side to theother, like a bird in a new cage. The feathers are draggled and rough, though. I am not strong, though the cough is quieter without the leastdoubt. And this time also I shall not die, perhaps. Indeed, I do think not. That darling Robert carried me into the carriage, swathed past possiblebreathing, over face and respirator in woollen shawls. No, he wouldn'tset me down even to walk up the fiacre steps, but shoved me in upsidedown, in a struggling bundle--I struggling for breath--he accounting tothe concierge for 'his murdered man' (rather woman) in a way which threwme into fits of laughter afterwards to remember. 'Elle se porte trèsbien! elle se porte extrêmement bien. Ce n'est rien que les poumons. 'Nothing but lungs! No air in them, which was the worst! Think how theconcierge must have wondered ever since about 'cet original d'Anglais, 'and the peculiar way of treating wives when they are in excellenthealth. 'Sacre. ' Kind Madame Mohl was here to-day, asking about you; and the Aides, maleand female, whom we did not see, being at dinner; and dear Lady Elgincame to the door in her wheel-chair. We keep Penini (in a bed this time) in our bedroom. He was so patheticabout it, we would not lose him. Write to us, keep writing to us, till you come. I think much of you, wish much for you, and feel much _with_ you. May God bless you, my deardear friend! The frost broke up on Thursday, and it is raining warmlyto-day; but I can't believe in the possibility of the cold penetratingmuch into this house under worse circumstances; and I shall be bold, andtry hard to begin writing next week. Oh! George Sand. How magnificent that eighteenth volume is; I mean thevolume which concludes with the views upon the _sexes_! After all, andthrough all, if her hands are ever so defiled, that woman has a cleansoul. On the magnetic subjects, too, her 'je ne sais' is worthy of her. Andyet, more is to be known I am sure, than she knows. I read this book so eagerly and earnestly that I seem to burn it upbefore me. Really there are great things in it. And to hear people talking it over coldly, pulling it leaf from leaf! Robert quite joins with me at last. He is intensely interested, and fullof admiration. Now do write. With our united love, we are ever yours, be certain! R. B. And E. B. B. Remember not to agree to do the etching. Pray be careful not to involvethe precious eyes too much. How easy it would be to etch them out!Frightfully easy. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ [Paris] 3: Rue du Colisée:Monday, January 29, 1856 [postmark]. Dearest Fanny, --I can't get over it that you should fancy I meant to'banter' you. [47] If I wrote lightly, it was partly that _you_ wrotelightly, and partly perhaps because at bottom I wasn't light at all. When one feels out of spirits, it's the most natural thing possible tobe extravagantly gay; now, isn't it? And now believe me with what truth and earnestness of heart I aminterested in all that concerns you; and this is every woman's chiefconcern, of course, this great fact of love and marriage. My advice is, be sure of him _first_, and of yourself _chiefly_. For the rest I wouldmarry ('if I were a woman, ' I was going to say), though the whole worldspouted fire in my face. Marriage is a personal matter, be sure, and thenearest and wisest can't judge for you. If you can make up two hundred ayear between you, or less even, there is no pecuniary obstacle in myeyes. People may live very cheaply and very happily if they are happyotherwise. As for me, my only way was to cut the knot--because it was an untieableknot--and because my fingers generally are not strong at untieing. Whatdo you mean by Mr. Kenyon's backing me? Nobody backed me except thenorth wind which blew us vehemently out of England. Mr. Kenyon knew nomore of the affair than you did, though he was very kind afterwards andtook my part. And as to money, there was (and is) little enough. It wasa case of pure madness (for people of the world), just like table-movingand spirit-rapping and the 'hands'! But you, my dear friend, I do earnestly entreat you to consider if youare sure of principles, sentiment--and _of yourself_. Because, whetheryou know it or not, you are happily situated _now_ as far as exteriorcircumstances are concerned. They are not worth much, but they havetheir worth. They give you liberty to follow your own devices, to thinkthe beautiful and feel the noble; to live out, in short, your individuallife, which it is so hard to do in marriage, even where you marryworthily. I say this probably 'as one who beateth the air;' yet you _must_consider that I who say it, and who say it _emphatically_, consider ahappy marriage as the happiest state, and that all pecuniary reasonsagainst love are both ineffectual and _stupid_. Flippancy, flippancy, of course. London would be better (for yourfriends) as a residence for you, than Wittemberg can be; and for that, and no other account, I could be sorry that you did not settle _so_. Well, never mind! The description sounds excellently; almostover-romantic, though. Is there steadiness, do you think, and depth, andreliableness altogether? What impression does he make among those whohave known him longest? Dearest Fanny, do nothing in haste. Now I am going to tell you something which has vexed me, and continuesto vex me. The clock. If you knew Robert, you never would have askedhim. He has a sort of mania about shops, and won't buy his own gloves. He bought a pair of boots the other day (because I went down on my kneesto ask him, and the water was running in through his soles), and he willnot soon get over it. Without exaggeration, he would rather leap downamong the lions after your glove, as the knight of old, than walk into ashop for you. If I could but go out, there would be no difficulties; butI am shut up in my winter prison, in spite of the extraordinarily mildweather, through having suffered so much in the beginning of the winter. I asked Sarianna; she also shrinks from the responsibility; is afraid ofnot pleasing you, &c. The end of it all is that Mrs. Haworth will thinkus all very disobliging barbarians, and that really I am vexed. Why notask Mrs. Cochrane to get the thing for you? You can but ask, at anyrate. I am very anxious just now about dear Mr. Kenyon, who has beenalarmingly ill, and is only better, I fear. Miss Bayley wrote to tellme, and added that he was going to Cowes when he could move, whichpleases me; for only change of air and liberation from London air cancomplete his convalescence. For the rest, I am busy beyond description; but never too much so, mind, dear Fanny, to be glad to get your letters. Write soon. Your everaffectionate E. B. B. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ [Paris]: 3 Rue du Colisée: February 21, [1856]. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --I should have answered your note days ago! Ifyou saw how I am in a plague of industry just now, and not a momentunspotted!--how, for instance, I kept an 'Examiner' newspaper (sent tous from London) three days on the table before I could read it, --youwould make an allowance for me. It's a sort of _furia_! I must get overso much writing, or I shall be too late for the summer's printing. If itisn't done by June, what will become of me? I shall go back to Italy indisgrace, and considerably poorer than I need be, which is of morepractical consequence. So I fag. Then there's an hour and a half in themorning for Penini's lessons. We breakfast at nine, and receive nobodytill past four. This will all prove to you two things, dearestfriend--first (I hope) that I'm pardonable for making you wait a fewdays longer than should have been, and secondly that I'm tolerably well. Yes, indeed. Since our arrival in this house, after just the first, whenthere was some frost, we have had such a miraculous mildness under thename of winter, that I rallied as a matter of course, and for the lastmonth there has been no return of the spitting of blood, and noextravagance of cough. I have persisted with cod's liver oil, and I lookby no means ill, people assure me, and so I may assure _you_. But I amnot very strong, and was a good deal tired after a two hours' drivewhich I ventured on a week ago in the Bois de Boulogne. The small rooms, and deficiency of air resulting from them, make a long shutting up amore serious thing than I find it in Florence in our acres of apartment. But it is easy to mend strength when only strength is to be mended, andI, for one, get strong again easily. I only hope that the cold is notreturning. The air was sharp yesterday and is to-day; but it'sFebruary, and the spring is at the doors, and we may hope withreason.... What do you say of the peace as a final peace? You are not at leastvexed, as so many English are, that we can't fight a little for glory toreinstate our reputation. You'll excuse that. Still, I can't helpfeeling disappointed in the peace--chiefly, perhaps, because I hoped toomuch from the war. Will nothing be done after all for Italy? nothing forPoland? You want books. Read About's 'Tolla. ' He is a new writer, and his bookis exquisite as a transcript of Italian manners. Then read OctaveFeuillet. There is much in him. Will there be war with America, dear Mr. Martin? Never will I believe ittill I hear the cannons. Talking of what we should believe, it appears that Mrs. Trollope hasthrown over Hume[48] from some failure in his moral character inFlorence. I have had many letters on the subject. I have no doubt thatthe young man, who is weak and vain, and was exposed to gross flatteriesfrom the various unwise coteries at Florence who took him up, deservesto be thrown over. But his _mediumship_ is undisproved, as far as I canunderstand. It is simply a physical faculty--he is quite an electricwire. At Florence everybody is quarrelling with everybody on thesubject. I thought I would tell you. Penini, the pet, is radiant, and learning French triumphantly. May Godbless you! Write to me, dearest Mrs. Martin, and tell me of both of you. Robert's love. Your ever, ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ [Paris]: 3 Rue du Colisée: February 28, 1856 [postmark]. My dearest Mona Nina, --Three letters, one on the top of another, and Idon't answer. Shame on me. How I have thought of you, to make up! Andyou write to apologise to _us_, from a dreamy mystical apprehension thatwe may peradventure have lost eightpence on your account! Well, it wouldhave been awful if we had. And so Providence interposed with a specialmiracle, and obliged the officials to accept the actual penny stamp forthe fourpenny stamp you meant to put, and _we paid just nothing for theterrible letter_! Take heart, therefore, in future, before allhypothetical misfortunes. That's the moral of the tale.... My dear friend, how shall I pull you and make you come to Paris? Madamede Triqueti was here the other day, and spoke of you, and swore shewouldn't help to take rooms for you, unless you came near _her_. As tothe two rooms you speak of, I am sure you might have what rooms youpleased now, in this neighbourhood. What would you give? Our presentapartment is comfort itself, and except some cold days a short timeafter you went away, we have really had no winter. The miraculous warmthhas saved me, for I was so _felled_ in that Rue de Grenelle, I shouldscarcely have had force against an ordinary cold season. Little Peninihas been blossoming like a rose all the time. Such a darling, idle, distracted child he is, not keeping his attention for three minutestogether for the hour and a half I teach him, and when I upbraid him forit, throwing himself upon me like a dog, kissing my cheeks and head andhands. 'O you little pet, _dive_ me one chance more! I will really bedood, ' and learning everything by magnetism, getting on in seven weeks, for instance, to read French quite surprisingly. He has written a poemon the war and the peace, called 'Soldiers going and coming, ' whichRobert and I thought so remarkable that I sent it to Mr. Forster. Oh, such a darling, that child is! I expect the wings to grow presently. As for my poem (far below Penini's), I work on steadily and have put inorder and transcribed five books, containing in all above six thousandlines ready for the press. I have another book to put together andtranscribe, and then must begin the composition part of one or two morebooks, I suppose. I must be ready for printing by the time we go toEngland, in June. Robert too is much occupied with 'Sordello, '[49] andwe neither of us receive anybody till past four o'clock. I mean thatwhen you have read my new book, you put away all my other poems or mostof them, and know me only by the new. Oh, I am so anxious to make itgood. I have put much of myself in it--I mean to say, of my soul, mythoughts, emotions, opinions; in other respects, there is not a personalline, of course. It's a sort of poetic art-novel. If it's a failure, there will be the comfort of having made a worthy effort, of having doneit as well as I could. Write soon to me, and love us both constantly, aswe do you. Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ [Paris]: May 2, 1856 [postmark]. My dearest Mona Nina, --It's very pleasant always to get letters fromyou, and such kind dear letters, showing that you haven't broken thetether-strings in search of 'pastures new, ' weary of our cropped grass. As for news, you have most of the persons upon whom you care for gossipin your hand now--Mrs. Sartoris, Madame Viardot, Lady Monson, and theRistori herself. Robert went to see her twice, because Lady Monson ledhim by the hand kindly, and was charmed; thought the Médée very fine, but won't join in the cry about miraculous genius and Rachelout-Racheled. He thinks that as far as the highest and largestdevelopment of sensibility can go, she is very great; but that for thosegrand and sudden _aperçus_ which have distinguished actors--such asKean, for instance--he does not acknowledge them in her. You have heardperhaps how Dickens and others, Macready among the rest, depreciatedher. Dickens went so far as to say, I understand, that no Englishaudience would tolerate her defects; which will be put to the proofpresently. By the way, you had better not quote Macready on thissubject, as he expressed himself unwilling to be quoted on it.... So now we are well again, [50] thank God; and if Robert will but takeregular exercise, he will keep so, I hope. As to Penini, he is radiant, and even I have been out walking twice, though a good deal weaker forthe winter. More open air, and much more, is necessary to set me growingagain, but I shall grow; and meantime I have been working, and amworking, at so close a rate that if I lose a day I am lost, which is tooclose a rate, and makes one feel rather nervous. We see nobody tillafter four meantime. I have finished (not transcribed) the last book butone, and am now in the very last book, which must be finished with thelast days of May. Then the first fortnight of June will be occupied withthe transcription of these two last books, and I shall carry thecompleted work with me to England on the 16th if it please God. Oh, I dohope you won't be disappointed with it--much! Some things you will likecertainly, because of the boldness and veracity of them, and others you_may_; I can't be so sure. Robert speaks well of the poetry--encouragesme much. But then he has seen only six of the eight books yet. He just now has taken to drawing, and after thirteen days' applicationhas produced some quite startling copies of heads. I am very glad. Hecan't rest from serious work in light literature, as I can; it wearieshim, and there are hours which are on his hands, which is bad both forthem and for him. The secret of life is in full occupation, isn't it?This world is not tenable on other terms. So while I lie on the sofa andrest in a novel, Robert has a resource in his drawing; and really, withall his feeling and knowledge of art, some of the mechanical trick of itcan't be out of place. To-night he is going to Madame Mohl, who is well and as vivacious asever. When Monckton Milnes was in Paris he dined with him in companywith Mignet, Cavour, George Sand, and an empty chair in which Lamartinewas expected to sit. George Sand had an ivy wreath round her head, andlooked like herself; But Lady Monson will talk to you of _her_, betterthan I can. Now, mind you ask Lady Monson. As to this Government, I only entreat you _not_ to believe any of themendacious reports set afloat here by a most unworthy Opposition, andcarried out by the English 'Athenæum' and other prints. Surely a causemust be bad which is supported by such bad means. In the first place, Béranger did _not_ write the verses attributed to him. The internalevidence was sufficient--for Victor Hugo is his personal enemy--to saynothing of the poetry. Then it would be wise, I think, in consideringthis question, and in taking for granted that the 'literature andtalent' of the country are against the Government, to analyse theantecedents and character of the persons who _do_ stand out, personsimplicated in former Governments, or favored by former Governments, andwhose vanity and prejudices are necessarily contrary to a new order. These persons, either in themselves or their friends, have all beentried in action and found wanting. They have all lost the confidence ofthe French people, either by their misconduct or their ill-fortune. They are all cast aside as broken instruments. Under these circumstancesthey think it desirable to break themselves into the lock, to preventthe turning of another key; they consider it noble and patriotic tostand aside and revile and throw mud, in order to hinder the action ofthose who _are_ acting for the country. In my mind, it is quiteotherwise; in my mind and in many other minds--Robert's, for instance!and he began with a most intense hatred of this Government, as you wellknow. But he does not shut his eyes to all that is noble and admirablegoing on, on all sides. At last he is sick of the Opposition, he admits. In respect to literature, nothing can be more mendacious than to saythere are restraints upon literature. Books of freer opinion are printednow than would ever have been permitted under Louis Philippe, as wasreproached against Napoleon by an enemy the other day--books of freeopinion, even licentious opinion, on religion and philosophy. _There isrestraint in the newspapers only. _ That the 'Athenæum' should venture tosay that in consequence of the suppression of books compositors arethrown out of work and forced to become transcribers of verses likeBéranger's (which are not Béranger's) is so stupendous a falsehood inthe face of _statistics which prove a yearly increase in the amount ofbooks printed_ that I quite lose my breath, you see, in speaking of it. The Government is steadily solving, or attempting to solve, thatdifficult modern problem of possible _Socialism_ which has been knockingat all our heads and hearts so long. _That_ is its vexation. It is aGovernment for the _'bus people_, the first settled and seriousGovernment that ever attempted _their_ case. Its action is worth all thepedantry of the _doctrinaires_ and the middling morals of the _justemilieu_; and I, who am a Democrat, will stand by it as long as I canstand, which isn't very long just now, as I told you. Dearest Mona Nina, I am so uneasy about dear Mr. Kenyon, who has beenill again--_is_ ill, I fear. He is in London--more's the pity! and MissBayley is with him. He gives me sad thoughts. Do write of yourself. Don't _you_ be sad, dearest friend. Oh, I do wishyou could have come, and let us love you and talk to you--but on the16th of June, at any rate. Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ [Paris]: Monday, May 6, 1856 [postmark]. My dearest Mona Nina, --Your letter makes me feel very uncomfortable. Weare in real difficulty about our dear friend Mr. Kenyon, the impulsebeing, of course, that Robert should go at once, and then the fearcoming that it might be an annoyance, an intrusion, something thefarthest from what it should be at all. If you had been moreexplicit--_you_--and we could know what was in your mind when you 'ask'Robert to come, my dear friend, then it would be all easier. If we couldbut know whether anything passed between you and Miss Bayley on thissubject, or whether it is entirely out of your own head that you wishRobert to come. I thought about it yesterday, till I went to bed ateight o'clock with headache. Shall I tell you something in your ear? Itis easier for a rich man to enter, after all, into the kingdom of heaventhan into the full advantages of real human tenderness. Robert wouldgive much at this moment to be allowed to go to dearest Mr. Kenyon, situp with him, hold his hand, speak a good loving word to him. This wouldbe privilege to him and to me; and love and gratitude on our partsjustified us in _asking_ to be allowed to do it. Twice we have asked. The first time a very kind but decided negative was returned to us onthe part of our friend. Yesterday we again asked. Yesterday I wrote tosay that it would be _consolation_ to us if Robert might go--if we mightsay so without 'teasing. ' To-morrow, in the case of Miss Bayley sendinga consent, even on her own part, Robert will set off instantly; butwithout an encouraging word from her--my dear friend, do you not seethat it might really vex dearest Mr. Kenyon? Observe, we have no moreright of intruding than you would have if you forced your way upstairs. It's a wretched world, where we can't express an honest affectionhonestly without half appearing indelicate to ourselves; nothing provesmore how the dirt of the world is up to our chins, and I think I had myheadache yesterday really and absolutely from simple disgust. You see, Robert might go to stay till Mr. Edward Kenyon arrives--if itwere only till then. I still hope and pray that our dearest friend mayrally, to recover at least a tolerable degree of health. He has certaingood symptoms; and some of the bad ones, such as the wandering, &c. , areconstitutional with him under the least fever. You may suppose whatpainful anxiety we are in about him. Oh, he has been always so good tome--so true, sympathising, and generous a friend! I shall always have a peculiar feeling to that dear kind Miss Bayley forwhat she has been to him these latter months. Now I can't write any more just now. Leighton has been cut upunmercifully by the critics, but bears on, Robert says, not withoutcourage. That you should say 'his picture looked well' was comfort inthe general gloom, though even you don't give anything yet that can becalled an opinion. Mrs. Sartoris will be much vexed by it all, I amsure. May God bless you! Write to me. Robert's love with that of Your ever affectionateBA. Did you observe a portrait of Robert by Page? Where have they hung it, and how does it strike you? * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ [Paris]: 3 Rue du Colisée:Saturday, June 17, 1856 [postmark]. My dearest Fanny, --I was just going to write to you to beg you to applyto Chapman for Robert's book, when he came to stop me with thenewspaper. Thank you, my dearest Fanny, for having thought of me whenyou had so much weary thought; it was very touching to me that youshould. And I am vexed to have missed two days before I told youthis--the first by an accident, and the second (to-day) by its being ablank post-day; but you will know by your heart how deeply I have feltand feel for you. May God bless you and love you! If I were as He tocomfort, you should be strong and calm at this moment. But what are weto one another in this world? How weak, how far, we all feel in momentslike these. Still, I should like to know that you had some friend near you, to holdyour hand and look in your face and be silent, as those are silent whoknow and feel. When you can write again, tell me how it is with you inthis respect, and in others. So sudden, so sudden! Yet bereavements like these are always sudden tothe soul, more or less. All _blows_ must needs be sudden. May yourhealth not suffer, dear Fanny. We shall be in London in about a weekafter the 16th, for we are delayed through my not having finished mypoem, which nobody will finish reading perhaps. We go to Mr. Kenyon'shouse in Devonshire Place, kindly offered to us for the summer. Shall wefind you, I wonder, in London? Yes; there are terrible costs in this world. We get knowledge by losingwhat we hoped for, and liberty by losing what we loved. But this worldis a fragment--or, rather, a segment--and it will be rounded presently, to the completer satisfaction. Not to doubt _that_ is the greatestblessing it gives now. Death is as vain as life; the common impressionof it, as false and as absurd. A mere change of circumstances. Whatmore? And how near these spirits are, how conscious, how full of activeenergy and tender reminiscence and interest, who shall dare to doubt?For myself, I do not doubt at all. If I did, I should be sitting hereinexpressibly sad--for myself, not you.... Robert unites with me in affectionate sympathy, and Sarianna was herelast night, talking feelingly about you. You shall have Robert's bookwhen we get to England. Think how much I think of you. Your ever affectionateBA. Mr. Kenyon has been very ill, and is still in a state occasioninganxiety. He is at the Isle of Wight. * * * * * At the end of June the Brownings came back to London, for what was, asit proved, Mrs. Browning's last visit to England. Mr. Kenyon had lentthem his house in London, at 39 Devonshire Place, he himself being inthe Isle of Wight; but a shadow was thrown over the whole of this visitby the serious and ultimately fatal illness of this dear friend. It waspartly in order to see him, and partly because Miss Arabel Barrett hadbeen sent out of town by her father almost as soon as her sister reachedDevonshire Place, that about the beginning of September they made anexpedition to the Isle of Wight, staying first at Ventnor with MissBarrett, and subsequently at West Cowes with Mr. Kenyon. All the whileMrs. Browning was actively engaged in seeing 'Aurora Leigh' through thepress, and the poem was published just about the time they left England. The letters during this visit are few and mostly unimportant, but thefollowing are of interest. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ 39 Devonshire Place:Friday morning [July-August 1856]. My dearest Mona Nina, my dear friend, --I am so grieved, so humiliated. If it is possible to forgive me, do. I received your note, delayed answering it because I fancied Robertmight _learn_ to accept your kindness about the box after a day'sconsideration, and so forgot everything bodily, taking one day foranother, as is my way lately, in this great crush of too much to do andthink of. When I was persuaded to go yesterday morning for the first andlast time to the Royal Academy, on the point of closing, I went in likean idiot--that is, an innocent--never once thinking of what I wasrunning the risk of losing; and when I returned and found you gone, youwere lost and I in despair. So much in despair that I did not hope onceyou might come again, and out I went after dinner to see the EdwardKenyons in Beaumont Street, like an innocent--that is, an idiot--and solost you again. You may forgive me--it is possible--but to forgivemyself! it is more difficult. Try not quite to give me up for it. Yournote gave me so much pleasure. I _wished_ so to see you! For the futureI mean to write down engagements in a text-hand, and set them upsomewhere in sight; but if I broke through twenty others as shamefully, it would not be with as much real grief to myself as in this fault to mydearest Mona Nina. Do come soon, out of mercy--and magnanimity! Your _ever_ affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ 3 Parade, West Cowes:September 9, 1856 [postmark]. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --Your letter has followed us. We have been inthe south of the island, at Ventnor, with Arabel, and are now in thenorth with Mr. Kenyon. We came off from London at a day's notice, theWimpole Street people being sent away abruptly (in consequence, plainly, of our arrival becoming known), and Arabel bringing her praying eyes tobear on Robert, who agreed to go with her and stay for a fortnight. Sowe have had a happy sorrowful two weeks together, between meeting andparting; and then came here, where our invalid friend called us. PoorArabel is in low spirits--very--and _aggrieved_ with being sent awayfrom town; but the fresh air and _repose_ will do her good, in spite ofherself, though she swears they won't (in the tone of saying theyshan't). She is not by any means strong, and overworks herself in Londonwith schools and Refuges, and societies--does the work of a horse, and_isn't_ a horse. Last winter she was quite unwell, as you heard. Inspite of which, I did not think her looking ill when I saw her first;and now she looks well, I think--quite as well as she ever does. But shewants a new moral atmosphere--a little society. She is thrown tooentirely on her own resources, and her own resources are of somewhat agloomy character. This is all wrong. It has been partly necessary and alittle her fault, at one time. I would give my right hand to take her toItaly; but if I gave right and left, it would not be found possible. Myfather has remained in London, and may not go to Ventnor for the nextweek or two, says a letter from Arabel this morning.... The very day heheard of our being in Devonshire Place he gave orders that his familyshould go away. I wrote afterwards, but my letter, as usual, remainedunnoticed. It has naturally begun to dawn upon my child that I have done somethingvery wicked to make my father what he is. Once he came up to meearnestly and said, 'Mama, if you've been very, very naughty--if you've_broken china_!' (his idea of the heinous in crime)--'I advise you to gointo the room and say, "_Papa, I'll be dood. _"' Almost I obeyed theinspiration--almost I felt inclined to go. But there wereconsiderations--yes, good reasons--which kept me back, and must continueto do so. In fact, the position is perfectly hopeless--perfectly. We find our dear friend Mr. Kenyon better in some respects than weexpected, but I fear in a very precarious state. Our stay is uncertain. We may go at a moment's notice, or remain if he wishes it; and, myproofs being sent post by post, we are able to see to them together, without too much delay. Still, only one-half of the book is done, andthe days come when I shall find no pleasure in them--nothing butcoughing. George and my brothers were very kind to Robert at Ventnor, and he isquite touched by it. Also, little Pen made his way into the heart of'mine untles, ' and was carried on their backs up and down hills, andtaught the ways of 'English boys, ' with so much success that he makespretensions to 'pluck, ' and has left a good reputation behind him. Onone occasion he went up to a boy of twelve who took liberties, andexclaimed, 'Don't be impertinent, sir' (doubling his small fist), 'or Iwill show you that _I'm a boy_. ' Of course 'mine untles' are charmedwith this 'proper spirit, ' and applaud highly. Robert and I begged tosuggest to the hero that the 'boy of twelve' might have killed him if hehad pleased. 'Never mind, ' cried little Pen, 'there would have beensomebody to think of _me_, who would have him hanged' (great applausefrom the uncles). 'But _you_ would still be dead, ' said Robertremorselessly. 'Well, I don't tare for _that_. It was a beautiful placeto die in--close to the sea. ' So you will please to observe that, in spite of being Italians andwearing curls, we can fight to the death on occasion.... Write to me, and say how you both are. Robert's love. We both love you. Very lovingly yours, BA. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [West Cowes]: September 13, 1856 [postmark]. My dearest Sarianna, --Robert comes suddenly down on me with news that heis going to write to you, so, though I have been writing letters all themorning, I must throw in a few words. As to keeping Penini at the sealonger, he will have been three weeks at the sea to-morrow, and you mustremember how late into the year it is getting--and we with so much workbefore us! And if Peni recovered his roses at Ventnor, I recovered mycough (from the piercing east winds); but I am better since, and lastnight slept well. It's far too early for cough, however, in any shape. We have heaps of business to do in London--heaps--and the book is onlyhalf-done. Still, we are asked to stay here till three days after MadameBraun's arrival, and it isn't fixed yet when she will arrive; so that Idaresay Peni will have a full month of the sea, after all. Then I have adesign upon Robert's good-nature, of persuading him to _go round byTaunton_ to London (something like going round the earth to Paris), thatI may see my poor forsaken sister Henrietta, who wants us to give her aweek in her cottage, pathetically bewailing herself that she has nomeans for the expense of going to London this time--that she has done ittwice for me, and can't this time (the purse being low); and unless wego to her, she must do without seeing me, in spite of a separation offour years. So I am anxious to go, of course. Robert will have told you of our dear friend here. We began by findinghim much better than we expected, but gradually the sad truth deepensthat he is very ill--oh, it deepens and saddens at once. The face lightsup with the warm, generous heart; then the fire drops, and you see theembers. The breath is very difficult--it is hard to live. He leans onthe table, saying softly and pathetically 'My God! my God!' Now and thenhe desires aloud to pass away and be at rest. I cannot tell you whathis kindness is--his consideration is too affecting; kinder he is thanever. Miss Bayley is an excellent nurse--at once gentle anddecided--and, if she did but look further than this life and this death, she would be a perfect companion for him. Peni creeps about like amouse; but he goes out, and he isn't over-tired, as he was at Ventnor. We think he is altogether better in looks and ways. Your affectionateBA. * * * * * A short visit to Taunton seems to have been made about the end ofSeptember, as anticipated in the last letter, and then, at some time inthe course of October, they set out for Florence. But Mrs. Browning, inthus quitting England for the last time, left behind her as a legacy thecompleted volume of 'Aurora Leigh. ' This poem was the realisation of herearly scheme, which goes back at least to the year 1844, of writing anovel in verse--a novel modern in setting and ideas, and embodying herown ideals of social and moral progress. And to a large extent shesucceeded. As a vehicle of her opinions, the scheme and style of thepoem proved completely adequate. She moves easily through the story; shehandles her metre with freedom and command; she can say her say withoutexaggeration or unnatural strain. Further, the opinions themselves, asthose who have learnt to know her through her letters will feel sure, are lofty and honourable, and full of a genuine enthusiasm for humanity. As a novel, 'Aurora Leigh' may be open to the criticism that most of thecharacters fail to impress us with a sense of reality and vitality, andthat the hero hardly wins the sympathy from the reader which he is meantto win. But as a poem it is unquestionably a very remarkable work--notso full of permanent poetic spirit as the 'Sonnets from the Portuguese, 'not so readily popular as 'The Cry of the Children' or 'Cowper'sGrave'--but a highly characteristic work of one whose character wasmade up of pure thoughts and noble ideals, which, in spite of theinevitable change of manners and social interests with the lapse ofyears, will retain into an indefinite future a very considerableintrinsic value as poetry, and a very high rank among the works of itsauthor. At the time of its publication its success was immediate. The subjectstouched on were largely such as always attract interest, because theyare open to much controversy; and the freshness of style and originalityof conception (for almost the only other novel-poem in the language is'Don Juan, ' which can hardly be regarded as of the same type as 'AuroraLeigh') attracted a multitude of readers. A second edition was requiredin a fortnight, a third in a few months--a success which must havegreatly pleased the authoress, who had put her inmost self into herwork, and had laboured hard to leave behind her an adequaterepresentation of her poetic art. This natural satisfaction was darkened, however, by the death, onDecember 3, of Mr. Kenyon, in whose house the poem had been completed, and to whom it had been dedicated. Readers of these letters do notrequire to be told how near and dear a friend he had been to both Mrs. Browning and her husband. During his life his friendship had taken thepractical form of allowing them 100_l. _ a year, in order that they mightbe more free to follow their art for its own sake only, and in his willhe left 6, 500_l. _ to Robert Browning and 4, 500_l. _ to Mrs. Browning. These were the largest legacies in a very generous will--the fitting endto a life passed in acts of generosity and kindness to those in need. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Florence. November 1856. ] Robert says he will wait for me till to-morrow, but I leave my otherletters rather and write to you, so sure I am that we oughtn't to putthat off any longer. Dearest Sarianna, I am very much pleased that youlike the poem, having feared a little that you might not. M. Milsandwill _not_, I prophesy; 'seeing as from a tower the end of all. ' The'Athenæum' is right in supposing that it will be much liked _and_ muchdisliked by people in general, although the press is so far astonishingin its goodwill, and although the extravagance of private letters mightwell surprise the warmest of my friends. But, patience! In a littlewhile we shall have the other side of the question, and the whips willfall fast after the nosegays. Still, I am surprised, I own, at theamount of success; and that golden-hearted Robert is in ecstasies aboutit--far more than if it all related to a book of his own. The form ofthe story, and also something in the philosophy, seem to have caught thecrowd. As to the poetry by itself, anything good in _that_ repelsrather. I am not as blind as Romney, not to perceive this. He had to beblinded, observe, to be made to see; just as Marian had to be draggedthrough the uttermost debasement of circumstances to arrive at thesentiment of personal dignity. I am sorry, but indeed it seemednecessary. You tantalise me with your account of 'warm days. ' It is warmer with usto-day, but we have had snow on all the mountains, and poor Isa has beenhalf-frozen at her villa. As for me, I have suffered wonderfullylittle--no more than discomfort and languor. We have piled up the woodin this room and the next, and had a perpetual blaze. Not for ten yearshas there been in Florence such a November! 'Is this Italy?' says poorFanny Haworth's wondering face. Still, she likes Florence better thanshe did.... Is it not strange that dear Mr. Kenyon should have lost his brother bythis sudden stroke? Strange and sad?... He was suffering too under arelapse when the news came--which, Miss Bayley says, did not dangerouslyaffect him, after all. Oh, sad and strange! I pity the unfortunate wifemore than anyone. She said to me this summer, 'I could not live withouthim. Let us hope in God that he and I may die at the same moment. '... There's much good in dear M. Milsand's idea for us about Paris and theSouth of France. Still, I'm rather glad to be quite outside the worldfor a little, during these first steps of 'Aurora. ' Best love to thedear Nonno. May God bless you both! Your ever affectionateBA. Oh, the spirits! Hate of Hume and belief in the facts are universalhere. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ [About December 1856. ] My dearest Isa, --Just before your note came I had the pleasure ofburning my own to you yesterday, which was not called for, as Iexpected. You would have seen from _that_, that Robert was going to youof his own accord and mine.... I am rather glad you have not seen the 'Athenæum'; the analysis it givesof my poem is so very unfair and partial. You would say the conceptionwas really _null_. It does not console me at all that I should bepraised and over-praised, the idea given of the poem remaining soabsolutely futile. Even the outside shell of the plan is but half given, and the double action of the metaphysical intention entirely ignored. Iprotest against it. Still, Robert thinks the article not likely to doharm. Perhaps not. Only one hates to be misrepresented. So glad I am that Robert was good last night. He told me he had beendefending Swedenborg and the spirits, which suggested to me some notionof superhuman virtue on his part. Yes; love him. He is my right 'glory';and the 'lute and harp' would go for nothing beside him, even if'Athenæums' spelled one out properly. Dearest Isa, may God bless you! Let me hear by a word, when Ansunopasses, how you are. Your loving E. B. B. * * * * * The following letter was written almost immediately after the receipt ofthe news of Mr. Kenyon's death. Mrs. Kinney, to whom it is addressed, was the wife of the Hon. William Burnett Kinney, who was United StatesMinister at the Court of Sardinia in 1851. After his term of office heremoved to Florence, for the purpose of producing an historical work, but he did not live to accomplish it. Mrs. Kinney, who was herself apoet, was also the mother of the well-known American poet and critic, Mr. E. C. Stedman. [51] * * * * * _To Mrs. W. B. Kinney_ Casa Guidi: Friday evening [December 1856]. Your generous sympathy, my dear Mrs. Kinney, would have made me gladyesterday, if I had not been so very, very sad with some news of the daybefore, telling me of the loss of the loved friend to whom that book isdedicated. So sad I was that I could not lift up my head to write andexpress to you how gratefully I felt the recognition of your letter. Youare most generous--overflowingly generous. If I said I wished to deserveit better, it would be like wishing you less generous; so I won't. Iwill only thank you from my heart; _that_ shall be all I shall say. Affectionately yours always, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ Florence: December 26, 1856 [postmark]. My ever dear Friend, --To have three letters from you all unansweredseems really to discredit me to myself, while it gives such proof ofyour kindness and affection. No other excuse is to be offered but thesort of interruption which sadness gives. I really had not the heart tosit down and talk of my 'Aurora, ' even in reference to the pleasure andhonour brought to me by the expression of your opinion, when the belovedfriend associated with the poor book was lost to me in this world, gonewhere perhaps he no longer sympathises with pleasure or honour of mine, now--for nearly the first time. _Perhaps. _ After such separations thesense of _distance_ is the thing felt first. And certainly my book atleast is naturally saddened to me, and the success of it wholesomelyspoiled. Yet your letter, my dearest Mona Nina, arrived in time to give me great, great pleasure--true pleasure indeed, and most tenderly do I thank youfor it. I have had many of such letters from persons loved less, andwhose opinions had less weight; and you will like to hear that in afortnight after publication Chapman had to go to press with the secondedition. In fact, the kind of reception given to the book has muchsurprised me, as I was prepared for an outcry of quite another kind, andextravagances in a quite opposite sense. This has been left, however, tothe 'Press, ' the 'Post, ' and the 'Tablet, ' who calls 'Aurora' 'abrazen-faced woman, ' and brands the story as a romance in the manner ofFrederic Soulié--in reference, of course, to its gross indecency. I can't leave this subject without noticing (by the way) what you say ofthe likeness to the catastrophe of 'Jane Eyre. ' I have sent to thelibrary here for 'Jane Eyre' (but haven't got it yet) in order torefresh my memory on this point; but, as far as I do recall the facts, the hero was monstrously disfigured and blinded in a fire theparticulars of which escape me, and the circumstance of his beinghideously scarred is the thing impressed chiefly on the reader's mind;certainly it remains innermost in mine. Now if you read over again thosepages of my poem, you will find that the only injury received by Romneyin the fire was from a blow and from the emotion produced by the_circumstances_ of the fire. Not only did he _not_ lose his eyes in thefire, but he describes the ruin of his house as no blind man could. Hewas standing there, a spectator. Afterwards he had a fever, and theeyes, the visual nerve, perished, showing no external stain--perished asMilton's did. I believe that a great shock on the nerves might producesuch an effect in certain constitutions, and the reader on referring asfar back as Marian's letter (when she avoided the marriage) may observethat his eyes had never been strong, that her desire had been to readhis notes at night, and save them. For it was necessary, I thought, tothe bringing-out of my thought, that Romney should be mulcted in hisnatural sight. The 'Examiner' saw that. Tell me if, on looking into thebook again, you modify your feeling at all. Dearest Mona Nina, you are well now, are you not? Your last dear letterseems brighter altogether, and seems to promise, too, that quiet inItaly will restore the tone of your spirits and health. Do you know, Ialmost advise you (though it is like speaking against my heart) to gofrom Marseilles to Rome straight, and to give us the spring. The springis beautiful in Florence; and then I should be free to go and see thepictures with you, and enjoy you in the in-door and out-of-door way, both.... You will have heard (we heard it only three days ago) how our kindestfriend, who never forgot us, remembered us in his will. The legacy iseleven thousand pounds; six thousand five hundred of which are left toRobert, marking delicately a sense of trust for which I am especiallygrateful Of course, this addition to our income will free us from thepressure which has been upon us hitherto. But oh, how much sadness goesto making every gain in this world! It has been a sad, sad Christmas tome. A great gap is left among friends, and the void catches the eyes ofthe soul, whichever way it turns. He has been to me in much what myfather might have been, and now the place is empty twice over. You are yet _unconvinced_. You will be convinced one day, I think. Hereare wide-awake men (some of them most anti-spiritual to this hour, as totheory) who agree in giving testimony to facts of one order. You shallhear their testimony when you come. As to the 'supernatural, ' if youmean by that the miraculous, the suspension of natural law, I certainlybelieve in it no more than you do. What happens, happens according to anatural law, the development of which only becomes fuller and moreobservable. The movement, such as it is, is accelerated, and the wholestructure of society in America is becoming affected more or less forgood or evil, and very often for evil, through the extreme tenacity orslowness of those who ought to be leaders in every revolution ofthought, but who, on this subject, are pleased to leave their places tothe unqualified and the fanatical. Wise men will be sorry presently. When Faraday was asked to go and see Hume, to see a heavy table liftedwithout the touch of a finger, he answered that 'he had not time. ' Timehas its 'revenges. ' I am very glad that dear Mr. Procter has had some of these last benefitsof one beloved by so many. What a loss, what a loss! Was there nobequest to yourself? We have heard scarcely anything. May God bless you, dearest Mona Nina, with the blessing of years old andnew. Robert's love. Your ever attached BA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ Florence: December 29, 1856. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --I am very, very sorry. I feel for you to thebottom of my heart. But she was a pure spirit, leaning out the way Godhad marked for her to go, and you had not associated this world too muchwith her, as if she could have been meant to stay long in it. Always youfelt that she was about to go--did you not, dear friend?--and so thatshe does not stay cannot be an astonishment to you. The pain is thesame; only it can't be the bitter, unnatural pain of certainseparations. Her sweetness has gone to the sweet, her lovely nature tothe lovely; no violence was done to her in carrying her home. May Godenable you to dwell on this till you are satisfied--glad, and not sorry!That the spirits do not go far, and that they love us still, has grownto me surer and surer. And yet, how death shakes us! Yes indeed. I, too, have been very, very sad. This Christmas has come tome like a cloud. I can scarcely fancy England without that bright faceand sympathetic hand, that princely nature, in which you might put yourtrust more reasonably than in princes. These ten years back he has stoodto me almost in my father's place; and now the place is empty--doubly. Since the birth of my child (seven years since) he has allowedus--rather, insisted on our accepting (for my husband was loth)--ahundred a year, and without it we should have often been in hardstraits. His last act was to leave us eleven thousand pounds; and I donot doubt but that, if he had not known our preference of a simple modeof life and a freedom from worldly responsibilities (born artists as weboth are), the bequest would have been greater still. As it is, we shallbe relieved from pecuniary pressure, and your affectionateness will beglad to hear this, but I shall have more comfort from the considerationof it presently than I can at this instant, when the loss, the emptychair, the silent voice, the apparently suspended sympathy, must stillkeep painfully uppermost. You will wonder at a paragraph from the 'Athenæum, ' which Robert thoughtout of taste until he came to understand the motive of it--that therehad been (two days previous to its appearance) a brutal attack on the_will_, to the effect that literary persons had been altogetheroverlooked in the dispositions of the testator, in consequence of his, being a disappointed literary pretender himself. Therefore we werebrought forward, you see, together with Barry Cornwall and Dr. Southey, producing a wrong impression on the other side--only I can't blame the'Athenæum' writer for it; nor can anyone, I think. The effect, however, to ourselves is most uncomfortable, as we are overwhelmed with'congratulations' on all sides, just as if we had not lost a dear, tender, faithful friend and relative--just as if, in fact, some strangerhad made us a bequest as a tribute to our poetry. People are so obtusein this world--as Robert says, so '_dense_'; as Lord Brougham says, so'_crass_. ' Whatever may be your liking or disliking of 'Aurora Leigh, ' you willlike to hear that it's a great success, and in a way which I the leastexpected, for a fortnight after the day of publication it had to go topress for the second edition. The extravagances written to me about thatbook would make you laugh, if you were in a laughing mood; and thestrange thing is that the press, the daily and weekly press, upon whichI calculated for furious abuse, has been, for the most part, furious theother way. The 'Press' newspaper, the 'Post, ' and the 'Tablet' areexceptions; but for the rest, the 'Athenæum' is the coldest in praising. It's a puzzle to me, altogether. I don't know upon what principle thepublic likes and dislikes poems. Any way, it is very satisfactory at theend of a laborious work (for much hard working and hard thinking havegone to it) to hear it thus recognised, however I must think, with somebitterness, that the beloved and sympathetic friend to whom it wasdedicated scarcely lived to know what would have given him so muchpleasure as this. Dearest Mrs. Martin, mind you tell me the truth exactly. I should likemuch to have pleased you and Mr. Martin, but I like the truth _best_ ofall from you.... Dearest friends, keep kind thoughts of Your affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Florence: January 1857. ] My dearest Sarianna, --A great many happy years to you, and also to thedear Nonno. I am glad, for my part, to be out of the last, which hasbeen gloomy and almost embittering to me personally; but we must throwour burdens behind our backs as far as possible, and be cheerful for therest of the road. If Robert alone wrote about 'Aurora, ' I won't leave itto him to be alone grateful to dear M. Milsand for his extraordinarykindness. Do tell him, with my love, that I could not have expected it, even from himself--which is saying much. Most thankfully I leaveeverything to his discretion and judgment. On this subject I have been, from the beginning, divided between my strong desire of being translatedand my strong fear of being ill-translated. Harrison Ainsworth's novelsare quite one thing, and a poem of mine quite another. Oh yes! and yet, so great is my faith in Milsand, that the touch of his hand and theoverseership of his eyes must tranquillise me. I am simply grateful. Peni has been overwhelmed with gifts this year. I gave him on ChristmasDay (by his own secret inspiration) 'a sword with a blade to dazzle theeyes'; Robert, a box of tools and carpenter's bench; and we united in a'Robinson Crusoe, ' who was well received. Then from others he hadsleeve-studs, a silver pencil-case, books, &c. According to his ownmagniloquent phrase, he was '_exceptionally_ happy. ' He has taken tolong words; I heard him talking of '_evidences_' the other day. Poorlittle Pen! it's the more funny that he has by no means yet left offcertain of his babyisms of articulation, and the combined effects arecurious. You asked of Ferdinando. [52] Peni's attachment for Ferdinandois undiminished. Ferdinando can't be found fault with, even ingentleness, without a burst of tears on Peni's part. Lately I venturedto ask not to be left quite alone in the house on certain occasions; andthough I spoke quite kindly, there was Peni in tears, assuring me thatwe ought to have another servant to open the door, for that 'poorFerdinando had a great deal too much work'! When I ventured to demur tothat, the next charge was, 'plainly I did not love Ferdinando as much asI loved Penini, ' which I could not deny; and then with passionate sobsPeni said that 'I was very unjust indeed. ' 'Indeed, indeed, dear mama, you _are_ unjust! Ferdinando does everything for you, and I do nothing, except tease you, and even' (sobbing) 'I am sometimes a very naughtyboy. ' I had to mop up his tears with my pocket-handkerchief, and excusemyself as well as I could from the moral imputation of loving Penibetter than Ferdinando. We have been very glad in a visit from Frederick Tennyson.... God blessyou! Robert won't wait. Your ever attachedBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ Florence: February 2, 1857 [postmark]. My dearest Mona Nina, --To begin (lest I forget before the ending), don'tmind the sugar-tongs, if you have not actually bought them, inasmuch as, to my astonishment, Wilson has found a pair in Florence, marking theprogress of civilisation in this South. In Paris last winter we soughtin vain. There was nothing between one's fingers and real silver--tooexpensive for poets. But now we are supplied splendidly--and at the costof five pauls, let me tell you. Always delighted I am to have your letters, even when you don't tell meas touchingly as in this that mine are something to you. Do I not indeedlove you and _sympathise_ with you fully and deeply? Yes, indeed. On onesubject I am afraid to touch. But I _know_ why it is you feel so long, so unduly--so morbidly, in a sense. People in general, knowingthemselves to be innocently made to suffer, would take comfort inrighteous indignation and justified contempt: but to you the indignationand contempt would be the worst part of suffering; you can't bear it, and you are in a strait between the two. In fact, it relieves you ratherto take part against yourself, and to conclude on the whole that there'ssomething really bad in you calling on the pure Heavens for vengeance. Yes, that's _you_. You sympathise tenderly with your executioner.... And as for the critics--yes, indeed, I agree with you that I have noreason to complain. More than that, I confess to you that I am entirelyastonished at the amount of reception I have met with--I who expected tobe put in the stocks and pelted with the eggs of the last twenty years''singing birds' as a disorderly woman and freethinking poet! People havebeen so kind that, in the first place, I really come to modify myopinions somewhat upon their conventionality, to see the progress madein freedom of thought. Think of quite decent women taking the part ofthe book in a sort of _effervescence_ which I hear of with astonishment. In fact, there has been an enormous quantity of extravagance talked andwritten on the subject, and I _know it_--oh, I know it. I wish Ideserved some things--some things; I wish it were all true. But I seetoo distinctly what I _ought_ to have written. Still, it is nearer themark than my former efforts--fuller, stronger, more sustained--and onemay be encouraged to push on to something worthier, for I don't feel asif I had done yet--no indeed. I have had from Leigh Hunt a very pleasantletter of twenty pages, and I think I told you of the two from JohnRuskin. In America, also, there's great success, and the publisher issaid to have shed tears over the proofs (perhaps in reference to thehundred pounds he had to pay for them), and the critics congratulate meon having worked myself clear of all my affectations, mannerisms, andother morbidities. Even 'Blackwood' is not to be complained of, seeing that the writerevidently belongs to an elder school, and judges from his own point ofview. He is wrong, though, even in classical matters, as it seems to_me_. I heard one of Thackeray's lectures, the one on George the Third, andthought it better than good--fine and touching. To what is it thatpeople are objecting? At any rate, they crowd and pay. Ah yes. You appreciate Robert; you know what is in his poetry. Certainlythere is no pretension in _me_ towards that profound suggestiveness, andI thank you for knowing it and saying it. There is a real _poem_ being lived between Mr. Kirkup and the 'spirits, 'so called. [53] If I were to _write_ it in a poem, I should beat 'Aurora'over and over. And such a tragic face the old man has, with his bleakwhite beard. Even Robert is touched. Best love from him and your Ever attachedBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ Florence: February [1857]. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --I needn't say how much, how very much, pleasureyour letter gave me. That the poem should really have touched you, reached you, with whatever drawbacks, is a joy. And then that Mr. Martinshould have read it with any sort of interest! It was more than Icounted on, as you know. Thank you, dearest Mrs. Martin--thank both ofyou for so much sympathy. In respect to certain objections, I am quite sure you do me the justiceto believe that I do not willingly give cause for offence. Without goingas far as Robert, who holds that I 'couldn't be coarse if I tried, '(only that!) you will grant that I don't habitually dabble in the dirt;it's not the way of my mind or life. If, therefore, I move certainsubjects in this work, it is because my conscience was first moved in menot to ignore them. What has given most offence in the book, more thanthe story of Marian--far more!--has been the reference to the conditionof women in our cities, which a woman oughtn't to refer to, by anymanner of means, says the conventional tradition. Now I have thoughtdeeply otherwise. If a woman ignores these wrongs, then may women as asex continue to suffer them; there is no help for any of us--let us bedumb and die. I have spoken therefore, and in speaking have used plainwords--words which look like blots, and which you yourself would putaway--words which, if blurred or softened, would imperil perhaps theforce and righteousness of the moral influence. Still, I certainly will, when the time comes, go over the poem carefully, and see where anoffence can be got rid of without loss otherwise. The second edition wasissued so early that Robert would not let me alter even a comma, wouldnot let me look between the pages in order to the least alteration. Hesaid (the truth) that my head was dizzy-blind with the book, and that, if I changed anything, it would be probably for the worse; likearranging a room in the dark. Oh no. Indeed he is not vexed that youshould say what you do. On the contrary, he was _pleased_ because of themuch more that you said. As to your friend with the susceptible'morals'--well, I could not help smiling indeed. I am assured too, by afriend of my own, that the 'mamas of England' in a body refuse to lettheir daughters read it. Still, the daughters emancipate themselves and_do_, that is certain; for the number of _young_ women, not merely 'thestrong-minded' as a sect, but pretty, affluent, happy women, surroundedby all the temptations of English respectability, that cover it with themost extravagant praises is surprising to me, who was not prepared forthat particular kind of welcome. It's true that there's a quantity ofhate to balance the love, only I think it chiefly seems to come from theless advanced part of society. (See how modest that sounds! But you willknow what I mean. ) I mean, from persons whose opinions are not in astate of growth, and who do not like to be disturbed from a settledposition. Oh, that there are faults in the book, no human being knows sowell as I; defects, weaknesses, great gaps of intelligence. Don't let mestop to recount them. The review in 'Blackwood' proves to be by Mr. Aytoun; and coming fromthe camp of the enemy (artistically and socially) cannot be consideredother than generous. It is not quite so by the 'North British, ' whereanother poet (Patmore), who knows more, is somewhat depreciatory, Ican't help feeling. Now will you be sick of my literature; but you liked to hear, you said. If you would see, besides, I would show you what George sent me theother day, a number of the 'National Magazine, ' with the most hideousengraving, from a medallion, you could imagine--the head of a'strong-minded' giantess on the neck of a bull, and my name underneath!Penini said, 'It's not a bit like; it's too old, and _not half sopretty_'--which was comforting under the trying circumstance, ifanything could comfort one in despair.... Your ever most affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Florence: February 1857. ] My dearest Sarianna, --I am delighted, and so is Robert, that you shouldhave found what pleases you in the clock. Here is Penini's letter, whichtakes up so much room that I must be sparing of mine--and, by the way, if you consider him improved in his writing, give the praise to Robert, who has been taking most patient pains with him indeed. You will see howthe little curly head is turned with carnival doings. So gay a carnivalnever was in our experience--for until last year (when we were absent)all masks had been prohibited, and now everybody has eaten of the treeof good and evil till not an apple was left. Peni persecuted me to lethim have a domino, with tears and embraces; he '_almost never_ in allhis life had had a domino, ' and he would like it so. Not a blackdomino--no; he hated black--but a blue domino, trimmed with pink! thatwas his taste. The pink trimming I coaxed him out of; but for the rest Ilet him have his way, darling child; and certainly it answered, as faras the overflow of joy in his little heart went. Never was such delight. Morning and evening there he was in the streets, running Wilson out ofbreath, and lost sight of every ten minutes. 'Now, Lily, I do _pray_ younot to call out "Penini! Penini!"' Not to be known was his immenseambition. Oh, of course he thought of nothing else. As to lessons, therewas an absolute absence of wits. All Florence being turned out into thestreets in one gigantic pantomime, one couldn't expect people to bewiser indoors than out. For my part, the universal madness reached mesitting by the fire (whence I had not stirred for three months); andyou will open your eyes when I tell you that I went (in domino andmasked) to the great opera ball. Yes, I did really. Robert, who had beeninvited two or three times to other people's boxes, had proposed toreturn this kindness by taking a box himself at the opera this night andentertaining two or three friends with _gallantina_ and champagne. Justas he and I were lamenting the impossibility of my going, on that verymorning the wind changed, the air grew soft and mild, and he maintainedthat I might and should go. There was no time to get a domino of my own(Robert himself had a beautiful one made, and I am having itmetamorphosed into a black silk gown for myself!), so I sent out andhired one, buying the mask. And very much amused I was. I like to seethese characteristic things. (I shall never rest, Sarianna, till I riskmy reputation at the Bal de l'Opéra at Paris. ) Do you think I wassatisfied with staying in the box? No, indeed. Down I went, and Robertand I elbowed our way through the crowd to the remotest corner of theball below. Somebody smote me on the shoulder and cried 'Bellamascherina!' and I answered as imprudently as one feels under a mask. Attwo o'clock in the morning, however, I had to give up and come away(being overcome by the heavy air), and ingloriously left Robert and ourfriends to follow at half-past four. Think of the refinement andgentleness--yes, I must call it _superiority_--of this people, when noexcess, no quarrelling, no rudeness nor coarseness can be observed inthe course of such wild masked liberty. Not a touch of license anywhere. And perfect social equality! Ferdinando side by side in the sameballroom with the Grand Duke, and no class's delicacy offended against!For the Grand Duke went down into the ballroom for a short time. Theboxes, however, were dear. We were on a third tier, yet paid 2_l. _ 5_s. _English, besides entrance money. I think that, generally speaking, theatrical amusements are cheaper in Paris, in spite of apparentcheapnesses here. The pit here and stalls are cheap. But 'women insociety' can't go there, it is said; and you must take a whole box, ifyou want two seats in a box--which seems to me monstrous. People combinegenerally.... Ever affectionateBA. I meant to write only a word--and see! May it not be overweight! * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ Florence: April 9 [1857]. Dearest Madonna, --I must not wait, lest I miss you in your transit toNaples; thank you for your dear letter, then. The weather has burstsuddenly into summer (though it rains a little this morning), and I havebeen let out of prison to drive in the Cascine and to Bellosguardo. Beautiful, beautiful Florence. How beautiful at this time of year! Thetrees stand in their 'green mist' as if in a trance of joy. Oh, I dohope nothing will drive us out of our Paradise this summer, for I seemto hate the North more 'unnaturally' than ever. Mrs. Stowe has just arrived, and called here yesterday and this morning, when Robert took her to see the Salvators at the end of our street. Ilike her better than I thought I should--that is, I find more refinementin her voice and manner--no rampant Americanisms. Very simple andgentle, with a sweet voice; undesirous of shining or _poser_-ing, so itseems to me. Never did lioness roar more softly (that is quite certain);and the temptations of a sudden enormous popularity should be estimated, in doing her full justice. She is nice-looking, too; and there'ssomething strong and copious and characteristic in her dusky wavy hair. For the rest, the brow has not very large capacity; and the mouth wantssomething both in frankness and sensitiveness, I should say. But whatcan one see in a morning visit? I must wait for another opportunity. She spends to-morrow evening with us, and talks of remaining in Florencetill the end of next week--so I shall see and hear more. Her books arenot so much to me, I confess, as the fact is, that she above all women(yes, and men of the age) has moved the world--and _for good_. I hear that Mrs. Gaskell is coming, whom I am sure to like and love. Iknow _that_ by her letters, though I was stupid or idle enough to letour correspondence go by; and by her books, which I earnestly admire. How anxious I am to see the life of Charlotte Brontë! But we shall haveto wait for it here. Dearest friend, you don't mention Madme de Goethe, but I do hope youwill have her with you before long. The good to you will be immense, andafter friendship (and reason) the sun and moon and earth of Italy willwork for you in their places. May God grant to us all that you may besoon strong enough to throw every burden behind you! The griefs that areincurable are those which have our own sins festering in them.... On April 6 we had tea out of doors, on the terrace of our friend MissBlagden in her villa up [at] Bellosguardo (not exactly AuroraLeigh's, [54] mind). You seemed to be lifted up above the world in adivine ecstasy. Oh, what a vision! Have you read Victor Hugo's 'Contemplations'? We are doing so at last. As for _me_, my eyes and my heart melted over them--some of the personalpoems are overcoming in their pathos; and nothing more exquisite inpoetry can express deeper pain.... Robert comes back. He says that Mrs. Stowe was very simple and pleasant. He likes her. So shall I, I think. She has the grace, too, to admire ourFlorence. Your ever affectionateBA. I dare say the illustrations will be beautiful. But you are at work on anew book, are you not? * * * * * The mention of the 'Contemplations' of Victor Hugo in the precedingletter supplies a clue to the date of the following draft of an appealto the Emperor Napoleon on behalf of the poet, which has been foundamong Mrs. Browning's papers. An endorsement on the letter says that itwas not sent, but it is none the less worthy of being printed. * * * * * _To the Emperor Napoleon_ [April 1857. ] Sire, --I am only a woman, and have no claim on your Majesty's attentionexcept that of the weakest on the strongest. Probably my very name asthe wife of an English poet, and as named itself a little among Englishpoets, is unknown to your Majesty. I never approached my own sovereignwith a petition, nor am skilled in the way of addressing kings. Yethaving, through a studious and thoughtful life, grown used to great men(among the dead, at least), I cannot feel entirely at a loss in speakingto the Emperor Napoleon. And I beseech you to have patience with me while I supplicate you. It isnot for myself nor for mine. I have been reading with wet eyes and a swelling heart (as many who loveand some who hate your Majesty have lately done) a book called the'Contemplations' of a man who has sinned deeply against you in certainof his political writings, and who expiates rash phrases andunjustifiable statements in exile in Jersey. I have no personalknowledge of this man; I never saw his face; and certainly I do not comenow to make his apology. It is, indeed, precisely because he cannot beexcused that, I think, he might worthily be forgiven. For this man, whatever else he is not, is a great poet of France, and the Emperor, whois the guardian of her other glories, should remember him and not leavehim out. Ah, sire, what was written on 'Napoleon le Petit' does nottouch your Majesty; but what touches you is, that no historian of theage should have to write hereafter, 'While Napoleon III. Reigned, VictorHugo lived in exile. ' What touches you is, that when your people countgratefully the men of commerce, arms, and science secured by you toFrance, no voice shall murmur, 'But where is our poet?' What touches youis, that, however statesmen and politicians may justify his exclusion, it may draw no sigh from men of sentiment and impulse, yes, and fromwomen like myself. What touches you is, that when your own beloved youngprince shall come to read these poems (and when you wish him a princelynature, you wish, sire, that such things should move him), he may exultto recall that his imperial father was great enough to overcome thisgreat poet with magnanimity. Ah, sire, you are great enough! You can allow for the peculiarity of thepoetical temperament, for the temptations of high gifts, for the feverin which poets are apt to rage and suffer beyond the measure of othermen. You can consider that when they hate most causelessly there is adivine love in them somewhere; and that when they see most falsely theyare loyal to some ideal light. Forgive this enemy, this accuser, thistraducer. Disprove him by your generosity. Let no tear of an admirer ofhis poetry drop upon your purple. Make an exception of him, as God madean exception of him when He gave him genius, and call him back _withoutcondition_ to his country and his daughter's grave. I have written these words without the knowledge of any. Naturally Ishould have preferred, as a woman, to have addressed them through themediation of the tender-hearted Empress Eugénie; but, a wife myself, Ifelt it would be harder for her Majesty to pardon an offence against theEmperor Napoleon, than it could be for the Emperor. And I am driven by an irresistible impulse to your Majesty's feet to askthis grace. It is a woman's voice, sire, which dares to utter what manyyearn for in silence. I have believed in Napoleon III. Passionatelyloving the democracy, I have understood from the beginning that it wasto be served throughout Europe in you and by you. I have trusted you fordoing greatly. I will trust you, besides, for pardoning nobly. You willbe Napoleon in this also. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. [Illustration] * * * * * Shortly after this date, on April 17, Mrs. Browning's father died. Inthe course of the previous summer an attempt made by a relative to bringabout a reconciliation between him and his daughters was met with theanswer that they had 'disgraced his family;' and, although he professedto have 'forgiven' them, he refused all intercourse, removed his familyout of town when the Brownings came thither, and declined to give hisdaughter Henrietta's address to Mr. Kenyon's executor, who wasinstructed to pay her a small legacy. A further attempt atreconciliation was made by Mrs. Martin only a few months before hisdeath, but had no better success. His pride stood in the way of hisforgiveness to the end. On receiving the news of his death, the following letter was written byRobert Browning to Mrs. Martin; but it was not until two months laterthat Mrs. Browning was able to bring herself to write to anyone outsideher own family. * * * * * _Robert Browning to Mrs. Martin_ Florence: May 3, 1857. My dear Mrs. Martin, --Truest thanks for your letter. We had theintelligence from George last Thursday week, having been only preparedfor the illness by a note received from Arabel the day before. Ba wassadly affected at first; miserable to see and hear. After a few daystears came to her relief. She is now very weak and prostrated, butimproving in strength of body and mind: I have no fear for the result. Isuppose you know, at least, the very little that we know; and howunaware poor Mr. Barrett was of his imminent death: 'he bade them, ' saysArabel, 'make him comfortable for the night, but a moment before thelast. ' And he had dismissed her and her aunt about an hour before, witha cheerful or careless word about 'wishing them good night. ' So it isall over now, all hope of better things, or a kind answer to entreatiessuch as I have seen Ba write in the bitterness of her heart. There musthave been something in the organisation, or education, at least, thatwould account for and extenuate all this; but it has caused griefenough, I know; and now here is a new grief not likely to subside verysoon. Not that Ba is other than reasonable and just to herself in thematter: she does not reproach herself at all; it is all mere grief, as Isay, that this should have been _so_; and I sympathise with her there. George wrote very affectionately to tell me; and dear, admirable Arabelsent a note the very next day to prove to Ba that there was nothing tofear on her account. Since then we have heard nothing. The funeral wasto take place in Herefordshire. We had just made up our minds to go onno account to England this year. Ba felt the restraint on her toohorrible to bear. I will, or she will, no doubt, write and tell you ofherself; and you must write, dear Mrs. Martin, will you not? Kindest regard to Mr. Martin and all. Yours faithfully ever, ROBERT BROWNING. * * * * * _E. B. Browning to Mrs. Martin_ Florence: July 1, [1857]. Thank you, thank you from my heart, my dearest friend--this poor heart, which has been so torn and mangled, --for your dear, tender sympathy, whether expressed in silence or in words. Of the past I cannot speak. You understand, yes, you understand. And when I say that you understand(and feel that you do), it is an expression of belief in the largenessof your power of understanding, seeing that few _can_ understand--fewcan. There has been great bitterness--great bitterness, which isnatural; and some recoil against myself, more, perhaps, than is quiterational. Now I am much better, calm, and not despondingly calm (as, off and on, I have been), able to read and talk, and keep from vexing mypoor husband, who has been a good deal tried in all these things. Through these three months you and what you told me touched me with athought of comfort--came the nearest to me of all. May God bless you andreturn it to you a hundredfold, dear dear friend! I believe _hope_ had died in me long ago of reconciliation in thisworld. Strange, that what I called 'unkindness' for so many years, indeparting should have left to me such a sudden desolation! And yet, itis not strange, perhaps. No, I cannot write any more. You will understand.... We shall be in Paris next summer. This year we remain quietly where weare. Presently we may creep to the seaside or into the mountains toavoid the great heats, but no further. My temptation is to lie on thesofa, and never stir nor speak, only I don't give up, be certain. Idrive out for two or three hours on most days, and I hear Peni'slessons, and am good and obedient. If I could get into hard regular workof some kind, it would be excellent for me, I know; but the 'flesh isweak. ' Oh, no, to have gone to England this summer would have _helpednobody_, and would have been very overcoming to _me_. I was not fit forit, indeed, and Robert was averse on his own account.... May God bless you both, dearest friends. My little Penini is bright andwell. I have begun to teach him German. I do hope you won't fatigueyourselves too much at Colwall. Enjoy the summer and the roses, and bewell, be well. We shall meet next year.... Once more, goodbye. Your ever affectionate and gratefulBA. Robert's love as ever. This is the first letter I have written to anyone out of my own family. I hate writing, and can't help being stupid. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ Florence: [about July 1857]. I write soon, you see, dearest Fanny. I thank you for all, but I dobeseech you, _dear_, not to say a word more to me of what is said of me. The truth is, I am made of paper, and it tears me. Do not, dear. Make noreference to things personal to myself. As far as I could read andunderstand, it was absurd, perfectly _ungenuine_. I shall say nothing toanybody. I have torn that sheet. Do not refer to the subject to IsaBlagden. And there--I have done. No--I thank you; and I know it was your kindness entirely. Will you, ifyou love me, _not_ touch on the subject (I mean on the personal thing tomyself) in your next letters, not even by saying that you were sorry youdid once touch on them. I know how foolish and morbid I must seem toyou. So I am made, and I can't help my idiosyncrasies. Now don't mistake me. Tell me all about the spirits, only not about whatthey say of _me_. I am very interested. The drawback is, that withoutany sort of doubt they _personate falsely_. We are seething in the heat. The last three days have been a compositionof Gehenna and Paradise. It is a perpetual steam bath. Yet Robert and Ihave not finished our plans for escaping. Mrs. Jameson is here still, recovering her health and spirits. The Villa hospitality goes on asusual, and the evening before last we had tea on the terrace by a divinesunset, with a favoring breath or two. Only even there we wished forLazarus's finger. Certainly Florence will not be bearable many days longer. Write to methough, at Florence as usual.... It is said that Hume, who is back again in Paris and under the shadow ofthe Emperor's wing, has been the means of an extraordinarymanifestation, two spiritual figures, male and female, who were_recognised_ by their friends. Five or six persons (including themedium) fainted away at this apparition. It happened in Paris, lately. Yes, I mistrust the mediums less than I do the spirits who write. Tellme.... Write and tell me everything _with exceptions_ such as I have set down. And forgive my poor brittle body, which shakes and breaks. May God loveyou, dear. Yours in true affection, BA. * * * * * At the end of July, Florence had become unbearable, and the Browningsremoved, for the third time, to the Bagni di Lucca, whither they werefollowed by some of their friends, notably Miss Blagden and Mr. RobertLytton. Unfortunately, their holiday was marred by the dangerous illnessof Lytton, which not only kept them in great anxiety for a considerabletime, but also entailed much labour in nursing on Mr. Browning and MissBlagden. Besides Mrs. Browning's letters, a letter from her husband tohis sister is given below, containing an account of the earlier stagesof the illness. * * * * * _Robert Browning to Miss Browning_ Bagni di Lucca: August 18, [1857]. Dearest, --We arrived here on the 30th last, and two or three days afterwere followed by Miss Blagden, Miss Bracken, and Lytton--all for oursake: they not otherwise wanting to come this way. Lytton arrivedunwell, got worse soon, and last Friday week was laid up with a sort ofnervous fever, caused by exposure to the sun, or something, acting onhis nervous frame: since then he has been very ill in bed--doctor, anxiety &c. As you may suppose: they are exactly opposite us, at twelveor fifteen feet distance only. Through sentimentality and economycombined, Isa would have no nurse (an imbecile arrangement), and all hasbeen done by her, with me to help: I have sate up four nights out of thelast five, and sometimes been there nearly all day beside.... [55] He ismuch better to-day, taken broth, and will, I hope, have no relapse, poorfellow: imagine what a pleasant holiday we all have! Otherwise the placeis very beautiful, and cool exceedingly. We have done nothing notableyet, but all are very well, Peni particularly so: as for me, I bathe inthe river, a rapid little mountain stream, every morning at 6-1/2, andfind such good from the practice that I shall continue it, and whateverI can get as like it as possible, to the end of my days, I hope: thestrength of all sorts therefrom accruing is wonderful: I thought theshower baths perfection, but this is far above it.... I was so rejoicedto hear from you, and think you so wise in staying another month. I sentthe 'Ath. ' to 151 R. De G. Kindest love to papa: we can't get news fromEngland, but the Americans have paid up the rest of the money for'Aurora:' by the by, in this new book of Ruskin's, the drawing book, [56]he says '"Aurora Leigh" is the finest poem written in any language thiscentury. ' There is a review of it, which I have not yet got, in the'Rivista di Firenze' of this month. God bless you. I will write verysoon again. Do you write at once. Ba will add a word. How fortunateabout the books! How is Milsand? Pray always remember my best love tohim. * * * * * _E. B. Browning to Miss Browning_ [Same date. ] My dearest Sarianna, --Robert will have told you, I dare say, what aheavy time we have had here with poor Lytton. It was imprudent of himto come to Florence at the hottest of the year, and to expose himselfperfectly unacclimated; and the chance by which he was removed here justin time to be nursed was happy for him and all of us. We have had greatheat in the days even here, of course--no blotting out, even bymountains, of the Italian sun; but the cool nights extenuate verymuch--refresh and heal. Now I do hope the corner is turned of theillness. Isa Blagden has been devoted, sitting up night after night, andRobert has sate up four nights that she might not really die at herpost. There is nothing _infectious_ in the fever, so don't be afraid. Robert is quite well, with good appetite and good spirits, and Peni islike a rose possessed by a fairy. They both bathe in the river, andprofit (as I am so glad you do). Not that it's a real river, though ithas a name, the _Lima_. A mere mountain stream, which curls itself upinto holes in the rocks to admit of bathing. Then, as far as they havebeen able on account of Lytton, they have had riding on donkeys andmountain ponies, Peni as bold as a lion. [_The last words of the letter, with the signature, have been cut off_] * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ La Villa, Bagni di Lucca: August 22, [1857]. As you bid me write, my dear friend, about Lytton, I write, but I grieveto say we are still very uneasy about him. For sixteen days he has beenprostrate with this gastric fever, and the disease is not baffled, though the pulse is not high nor the head at all affected. Dr. Trotman, however, is uncheerful about him--is what medical men call '_cautious_'in giving an opinion, observing that, though _at present_ he is not indanger, the delicacy of his constitution gives room for greatapprehension in the case of the least turning towards relapse. Roberthad been up with him during eight nights, and Isa Blagden eight nights. Nothing can exceed her devotion to him by night or day. We havepersuaded her, however, at last to call in a nurse for the nights. I amafraid for Robert, and in fact a trained nurse can do certain thingsbetter than the most zealous and tender friend can pretend to do. Youmay suppose how saddened we all are. Dear Lytton! At intervals he talksand can hear reading, but this morning he is lower again. In fact, fromthe first he has been very apprehensive about himself--inclined to talkof divine things, of the state of his soul and God's love, and to holdthis life but slackly. I feel I am writing a horrible account to you. You will conclude theworst from it, and that is what I don't want you to do. The pulse hasnever been high, and is now much lower, and if he can be kept from arelapse he will live. I pray God he may live. He is not altered in theface, and Dr. Trotman reiterated this morning, 'There _is no_ danger atpresent. ' You are better. I thank God for it. Oh, yes, it is very beautiful, thatcathedral. The weather here is cool and enjoyable by day even. At nightsit is really cold, and I _have_ thought of a blanket once or twice as ofa thing tolerable. I will write again when there is a change. The courseof the fever may extend to six days more. Your ever most affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ Thursday, [end of August 1857]. Dearest Friend, --I think it better to inclose to you this letter whichhas come to your address. Thank you for your kind words about Lytton, which will be very soothing to him. He continues better, and ispreparing to take his first drive to-day, for half an hour, with his_nurse_ and Robert. See how weak he must be, and the hollow cheeks andtemples remain as signs of the past. Still, he is convalescent, andbegins to think of poems and apple puddings in a manner other thancelestial. I do thank God that our anxieties have ended so. Robert bathes in the river every morning, which does him great good;besides the rides at mornings and evenings on mountain ponies withAnnette Bracken and a Crimean hero (as Mrs. Stisted has it), who hasturned up at the hotel, with one leg and so many agreeable and amiablequalities that everybody is charmed with him. Robert had a letter from Chapman yesterday. Not much news. He speaks oftwo penny papers, sold lately, after making the fortune of theirproprietors, for twenty-five and thirty-five thousand pounds. If Robert'could but write bad enough, ' says the learned publisher, he shouldrecommend one of them. But even Charles Reade was found too good, andthe sale fell ten thousand in a few weeks on account of a serial tale ofhis, so he had to make place to his _worses_. Chapman hears of a'comprehensive review' being about to appear in the 'Westminster' on'Aurora, ' whether for or against he cannot tell. The third edition sellswell. So happy I am to hear that Mr. Procter's son is safe. We saw his name inthe 'Galignani, ' and were alarmed. Lytton has heard from Forster, but Ihad no English news from the letter. I get letters from my sisters whichmake me feel '_froissée_' all over, except that they seem pretty well. My eldest brother has returned from Jamaica, and has taken a place witha Welsh name on the Welsh borders for three years--what I knew he woulddo. He wrote me some tender words, dear fellow.... May God bless you! Yours in much love, BA. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ La Villa, Bagni di Lucca:September 14, 1857 [postmark]. My dearest Fanny, --A letter from me will have crossed yours and told youof all our misadventures. It has been a summer to me full of blots, vexations, anxieties; and if, in spite of everything, I am physicallystronger for the fresh air and smell of green leaves, that's a proofthat soul and body are two. Our friends of the hotel went away last Saturday, and I have a letterfrom Isa Blagden with a good account of Lytton. He goes back to VillaBricchieri, where they are to house together, unless Sir Edward comesdown (which he may do) to catch up his son and change the plan. Isa hasnot quite killed herself with nursing him, a little of her being stillleft to express what has been. Now, dear Fanny, I am going to try to tell you of _our_ plans. No, 'plans' is not the word; our thoughts are in the purely elemental stateso far. But we _think_ of going to Rome (or Naples) at the far end ofNovember, and of staying here as many days deep into October meanwhileas the cold mountain air will let us. On leaving this place we go toFlorence and wait. Unless, indeed (which is possible too), we go toEgypt and the Holy Land, in which case we shall not remain where we arebeyond the end of September.... I never could consent to receive my theology or any other species ofguidance, in fact--from the 'spirits, ' so called. I have no moreconfidence, apart from my own conscience and discretionary selection, inspirits out of the body than in those embodied. The submission of thewhole mind and judgment carries you in either case to the pope--or tothe devil. So _I_ think. Don't let them bind you hand and foot. Resist. Be yourself. Also where (as in the medium-writing) you have the humanmixture to evolve the spiritual sentiment from, the insecurity becomesdoubly insecure.... Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * The end of the time at the Bagni di Lucca was clouded by anotheranxiety, caused by the illness of Penini. It was not, however, a longone, and early in October the whole party was able to return toFlorence, where they remained throughout the winter and the followingspring. Letters of this period are, however, scarce, and there isnothing particular to record concerning it. Since the publication of'Aurora Leigh, ' Mrs. Browning had been taking a holiday from poeticalcomposition; indeed she never resumed it on a large scale, and publishedno other volume save the 'Poems before Congress, ' which were the fruitof a later period of special excitement. She had put her whole self into'Aurora Leigh, ' and seemed to have no further message to give tomankind. It is evident, too, that her strength was already beginning todecline and the various family and public anxieties which followed 1856made demands on what remained of it too great to allow of muchapplication to poetry. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ [Bagni di Lucca:] Monday, September 28, [1857]. You will understand too well why I have waited some days beforeanswering your letter, dearest Fanny, though you bade me write at once, when I tell you that my own precious Penini has been ill with gastricfever and is even now confined to his bed. Eleven days ago, when he waslooking like a live rose and in an exaggeration of spirits, he proposedto go with me, to run by my portantina in which I went to pay a visitsome mile and a half away. The portantini men walked too fast for him, and he was tired and heated. Then, while I paid my visit, he played bythe river with a child of the house, and returned with me in the dusk. He complained of being tired during the return, and I took him up intomy portantina for ten minutes. He was over-tired, however, over-heated, over-chilled, and the next day had fever and complained of his head. Wedid not think much of it; and the morning after he seemed so recoveredthat we took him with us to dine in the mountains with some Americanfriends (the Eckleys--did you hear of them in Rome?)--twenty miles inthe carriage, and ten miles on donkey-back. He was in high spirits, andcame home at night singing at the top of his voice--probably to keep offthe creeping sense of illness, for he has confessed since that he feltunwell even then. The next day the fever set in. The medical man doubtedwhether it was measles, scarlatina, or what; but soon the symptoms tookthe decisive aspect. He has been in bed, strictly confined to bed, sincelast Sunday-week night--strictly confined, except for one four hours, after which exertion he had a relapse. It is the same fever as Mr. Lytton's, only not as severe, I thank God; the attacks coming on atnights chiefly, and terrifying us, as you may suppose. The child'ssweetness and goodness, too, his patience and gentleness, have been verytrying. He said to me, 'You pet! don't be unhappy for _me_. Think it's apoor little boy in the street, and be just only a little sorry, and notunhappy at all. ' Well, we may thank God that the bad time seems passed. He is still in bed, but it is a matter of precaution chiefly. The feveris quite in abeyance--has been for two days, and we have all to begrateful for two most tranquil nights. He amuses himself in putting mapstogether, and cutting out paper, and packing up his desk to _go toFlorence_, which is the _idée fixe_ just now. In fact when he can bemoved we shall not wait here a day, for the rains have set in, and thedry elastic air of Florence will be excellent for him. The medical man(an Italian) promises us almost that we may be able to go in a weekfrom this time; but we won't hurry, we will run no risks. For some dayshe has been allowed no other sort of nourishment but tendessert-spoonfuls of thin broth twice a day--literally nothing; not amorsel of bread, not a drop of tea, nothing. Even now the only changeis, a few more spoonfuls of the same broth. It is hard, for his appetitecries out aloud; and he has agonising visions of beefsteak pies andbuttered toast seen in _mirage_. Still his spirits don't fail on thewhole and now that the fever is all but gone, they rise, till we have tobeg him to be quiet and not to talk so much. He had the flower-girl inby his bedside yesterday, and it was quite impossible to help laughing, so many Florentine airs did he show off. 'Per Bacco, ho una fameterribile, e non voglio aver più pazienza con questo Dottore. ' Thedoctor, however, seems skilful.... But you may think how worn out I have been in body and soul, and howunder these circumstances we think little of Jerusalem or of any otherplace but our home at Florence. Still, we shall probably pass the wintereither at Rome or Naples, but I know no more than a swaddled baby which. Also we _shan't_ know, probably, till the end of November, when we takeout our passports. Doubt is our element.... I must go to my Peni. I am almost happy about him now. And yet--oh, hislovely rosy cheeks, his round fat little shoulders, his strength andspring of a month ago!--at the best, we must lose our joy and pride inthese for a time. May God bless you! I know you will feel for me, andthat makes me so egotistical. Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Florence: February 1858. ] My dearest Sarianna, --Robert is going to write to dear M. Milsand, whosegoodness is 'passing that of men, ' of all common friends certainly. Robert's thanks are worth more than mine, and so I shall leave it toRobert to thank him. The 'grippe' has gripped us here most universally, and no wonder, considering our most exceptional weather; and better the grippe than thefever which preceded it. Such cold has not been known here for years, and it has extended throughout the south, it seems, to Rome and Naples, where people are snowed and frozen up. So strange. The Arno, for thefirst time since '47, has had a slice or two of ice on it. Robert hassuffered from the prevailing malady, which did not however, through theprecautions we took, touch his throat or chest, amounting only to a badcold in the head. Peni was afflicted in the same way but in a muchslighter degree, and both are now quite well. As for me I have caught nocold--only losing my breath and my soul in the usual way, the cough notbeing much. So that we have no claim, any of us, on your compassion, yousee.... I think, I think Miss Blackwell has succeeded in frightening you alittle. In the case of _chaos_, she will fly to England, I suppose; andeven there she may fall on a refugee plot; for I have seen a letter ofMazzini's in which it was written that people stood on ruins in England, and that at any moment there might be a crash! Certainly, confusion inParis would be followed by confusion in Italy and everywhere on theContinent at least, so I should never think of running away, let whatmight happen. In '52 and '53, when we were in Paris, there was moredanger than _could_ arise now, under a successful plot even; for, evenif the Emperor fell, the people and the army seem prepared to stand bythe dynasty. Also, public order has attained to some of the force of anhabitual thing. As to the crime, [57] it has no more sympathy here than in France--besure of that. That unscrupulous bad party is repudiated by thismajority--by this people as a mass. I hear nothing but lamentationsthat Italians should be dishonored so by their own hands. Father Proutsays that the Emperor's speech is 'the most heroic document of thiscentury, ' and in my mind the praise is merited. So indignant I feel withMazzini and all who name his name and walk in his steps, that I couldn'tfind it in my heart to write (as I was going to do) to that poorbewitched Jessie on her marriage. Really, when I looked at the pen, I_couldn't move it_.... Best love fromBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ Florence: March 27 [1858] This moment I take up my pen to write to you, my dearest Mrs. Martin. Did you not receive a long letter I wrote to you in Paris? No? Answer mecategorically.... And you are not very strong, even now? That grieves me. But here is thesun to make us all strong. For my part, my chest has not beenparticularly wrong this winter, nor my cough too troublesome. But theweight of the whole year heavy with various kinds of trouble, added to atrying winter, seems to have stamped out of me the vital fluid, and I amphysically low, to a degree which makes me glad of renewed opportunitiesof getting the air; and I mean to do little but drive out for some time. It does not answer to be mastered so. For months I have done nothing butdream and read French and German romances; and the result (of learning agood deal of German) isn't the most useful thing in the world one canattain to. Then, of course, I teach Peni for an hour or so. He readsGerman, French, and, of course, Italian, and plays on the pianoremarkably well, for which Robert deserves the chief credit. A verygentle, sweet child he is; sweet to look at and listen to; affectionateand good to live with, a real 'treasure' so far. His passion is music;and as we are afraid of wearing his brain, we let him give most of hisstudy-time to the piano. So you want me, you expect me, I suppose, to approve of the miserable, undignified, unconscientious doings in England on the conspiracyquestion?[58] No, indeed. I would rather we had lost ten battles thanstultified ourselves in the House of Commons with Brummagem brag andDerby intrigues before the eyes of Europe and America. It seems to meutterly pitiful. I hold that the most susceptible of nations should notreasonably have been irritated by the Walewski despatch, which wasabsolutely true in its statement of facts. Ah, dearest friend, _how_true I know better than you do; for I know of knowledge how thisdoctrine of assassination is held by chief refugees and communicated totheir disciples in England--yes, to noble hearts, and to English handsstill innocent--my very soul has bled over these things. With my ownears I have heard them justified. For nights I have been disturbed in mysleep with the thoughts of them. In the name of liberty, which I love, and of the Democracy, which I honour, I protest against them. And ifsuch things can be put down, I hold they should be put down; and thatthe Conspiracy Bill is the smallest and lightest step that can be takentowards the putting down. For the rest, the great Derby intrigue, asshown in its acts, and as resulting in its State papers, nothing inhistory, it seems to me, was ever so small and mean. What I think of _him_? Why, I think he is the only great man of his age, speaking of public men. I think 'Napoleon III devant le peuple anglais'a magnificent State paper. I confess to you it drew the tears to my eyesas I read it. So grand, so calm, so simply true! And now with regard to Switzerland. You must remember that there is sucha thing as an international law, and that only last year the Swissappealed in virtue of it to France about the Neufchâtel refugees, andthat France received and acted on that appeal. The very translation ofthe French despatch adds to the injustice done to it in England; because'_insister_' does not mean to 'insist upon a thing being done, ' but to'urge it upon one's attention. ' 'The Times, ' 'The Times. ' Why, 'The Times' has intellect, but noconscience. 'The Times' is the most immoral of journals, as well as themost able. 'The Times, ' on this very question of the Conspiracy Bill, has swerved, and veered, and dodged, till its readers may well be dizzyif they read every paragraph every day. See how I fall into a fury. 'Oh, Liberty! I would cry, like the womanwho did not love liberty more than I do--'Oh, Liberty, what deeds aredone in thy name!' and (looking round Italy) what sorrows are suffered! For I do fear that Mazzini is at the root of the evil; that man ofunscrupulous theory! Now you will be enough disgusted with me. Tell me that you and dear Mr. Martin forgive me. I never saw Orsini, but have heard and known much ofhim. Unfortunate man. He died better than he lived--it is all one cansay. Surely you admit that the permission to read that letter on thetrial was large-hearted. And it has vexed Austria to the last degree, Iam happy to say. It was not allowed to be read here, by the Italianpublic, I mean. Our plans are perfectly undefined, but we do hope to escape England.... Robert talks of Egypt for the winter. I don't know what may happen; andin the meantime would rather not be pulled and pulled by kind people inEngland, who want me or fancy they do. You know everybody is as free asI am now, and freer; and if they do want me, and it isn't fancy--nevermind! We may see you perhaps, in Paris, after all, this summer.... Now let me tell you. Hume, my _protégé_ prophet, is in Italy. Think ofthat. He was in Pisa and in Florence for a day, saw friends of his andacquaintances of ours with whom he stayed four months on the lastoccasion, and who implicitly believe in him. An Englishwoman, who frominfidel opinions was converted by his instrumentality to a belief in thelife after death, has died in Paris, and left him an annuity of £240, English. On coming here, he paid all his wandering debts, I am glad tohear, and is even said to have returned certain _gifts_ which had beenrendered unacceptable to him from the bad opinion of the givers. I hear, too, that his manners, as well as morals, are wonderfully improved. Heis gone to Rome, and will return here to pay a visit to his friends inFlorence after a time. The object of his coming was health. While hepassed through Tuscany, the _power_ seemed to be leaving him, but he hasrecovered it tenfold, says my informant, so I hope we shall hear of morewonders. Did you read the article in the 'Westminster'? The subject _seprête au ridicule_, but ridicule is not disproof. The Empress Eugénieprotects his little sister, and has her educated in Paris. Surely I have made up for silence. Dearest friends, both of you, may Godbless you! Your affectionateBA. Robert's love and Peni's. * * * * * In the summer of 1858 an expedition was made to France, in order tovisit Mr. Browning's father and sister; but no attempt was made toextend the journey into England. In fact, the circle of their flightsfrom Florence was becoming smaller; and as 1856 saw Mrs. Browning's lastvisit to England, so 1858 saw her last visit to France, or, indeed, beyond the borders of Italy at all. It was only a short visit, too, --notlonger than the usual expeditions into the mountains to escape thesummer heat of Florence. In the beginning of July they reached Paris, where they stayed at the Hôtel Hyacinthe, rue St. Honoré, for about afortnight, before going on to Havre in company with old Mr. Browning andMiss Browning. There they remained until September, when they returnedto Paris for about a month, and thence, early in October, set out forItaly. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ Hôtel Hyacinthe, St. Honoré:Wednesday and Thursday, July 8, 1858 [postmark]. My dearest Fanny, --The scene changes. No more cypresses, no morefireflies, no more dreaming repose on burning hot evenings. Push out thechurches, push in the boulevards. Here I am, sitting alone at thismoment, in an hotel near the Tuileries, where we have taken an apartmentfor a week, a pretty salon, with the complement of velvet sofas, andarm-chairs, and looking-glasses, and bedrooms to correspond, with clocksat distances of three yards, as if the time was in desperate danger offorgetting itself--which it is, of course. Paris looks more splendidthan ever, and we were not too much out of breath with fatigue, on ourarrival last night, to admit of various cries of admiration from all ofus. It is a wonderfully beautiful city; and wonderfully cold consideringthe climate we came from. Think of our finding ourselves forced intowinter suits, and looking wistfully at the grate. I did so this morning. But now there is sunshine. We had a prosperous journey, except the sea voyage which prostrated allof us--_Annunziata_, to 'the lowest deep' of misery. At Marseilles weslept, and again at Lyons and Dijon, taking express trains the wholeway, so that there was as little fatigue as possible; and what with thereviving change of air and these precautions, I felt less tiredthroughout the journey than I have sometimes felt at Florence after along drive and much talking. We had scarcely any companions in thecarriages, and were able to stretch to the full longitude of us--acomfort always; and I had 'Madame Ancelot, ' and 'Doit et Avoir, ' whichdropped into my bag from Isa's kind fingers on the last evening, and wegathered 'Galignanis' and 'Illustrations' day by day. Travelling hasreally become a luxury. I feel the _repose_ of it chiefly. Yes, nopossibility of unpleasant visitors! no fear of horrible letters! quitelifted above the plane of bad news, or of the expectation of bad news, which is nearly the same thing. There you are, shut in, in a carriage!Quite out of reach of the telegraph even, which you mock at as you runalongside the wires. Yes, but some visitors, some faces, and voices are missed. Andaltogether I was very sad at leaving my Italy, oh, very sad!... Tell me how you like 'up in the villa' life, and how long you shall bearit. Paris! I have not been out of the house, except when I came into it. Butto-day, Thursday, I mean to drive out a little with Robert. You know Ihave a _weakness_ for Paris, and a _passion_ for Italy; which wouldoperate thus, perhaps, that I could easily stay here when once here, ifthere was but a sun to stay with me. We are in admiration, all of us, ateverything, from cutlets to costumes. On the latter point I shall givemyself great airs over you barbarians presently--no offence toZerlinda--and, to begin, pray draw your bonnets more over your faces. I would rather send this bit than wait, as I did not write to you fromMarseilles. May God bless you! If you knew how happy I think you for being inItaly--if you knew. I shiver with the cold. I tie up three loves to send you from Your truly affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ Hôtel Hyacinthe, St. Honoré, Paris:Thursday [July 8, 1858]. My dearest dear Isa, --We are here, having lost nothing--neither a carpetbag nor a bit of our true love for you. We arrived the evening beforelast, and this letter should have been written yesterday if I hadn'tbeen interrupted. Such a pleasant journey we had, after the curse of thesea! ('_Where there shall be no more sea_' beautifies the thought ofheaven to me. But Frederick Tennyson's prophets shall compound for asmany railroads as they please. ) In fact, we did admirably by land. We were of unbridled extravagance, and slept both at Lyons and Dijon, and travelled by express trainsbesides, so that we were almost alone the whole way, and able to lie atfull length and talk and read, and 'Doit et Avoir' did duty by me, Iassure you--to say nothing of 'Galignanis' and French newspapers. I wasnearly sorry to arrive, and Robert suggested the facility of 'travellingon for ever so. ' He (by help of _nux_) was in a heavenly state of mind, and never was the French people--public manners, private customs, general bearing, hostelry, and cooking, more perfectly appreciated thanby him and all of us. Judge of the courtesy and liberality. _One_ boxhad its lid opened, and when Robert disclaimed smuggling, 'Je vouscrois, monsieur' dismissed the others. Then the passport was neverlooked at after a glance at Marseilles. I am thinking of writing to the'Times, ' or should be if I could keep my temper. So you see, dear Isa, I am really very well for me to be so pert. Yes, indeed, I am very well. The journey did not overtire me, and change ofair had its usual reviving effect. Also, Robert keeps boasting of hisinflux of energies, and his appetite is renewed. We have resolvednothing about our sea plans, but have long lists of places, and find itdifficult to choose among so many enchanting paradises, with drawbacksof 'dearness, ' &c. &c. Meanwhile we are settled comfortably in an hotelclose to the Tuileries, in a pretty salon and pleasant bedrooms, forwhich we don't pay exorbitantly, taken for a week, and we shall probablyoutstay the week. Robert has the deep comfort of finding his father, onwhose birthday we arrived, looking ten years younger--really, I may sayso--and radiant with joy at seeing him and Peni. Dear Mr. Browning andSarianna will go with us wherever we go, of course. Paris looks more beautiful than ever, and we were not too dead to seethis as we drove through the streets on Wednesday evening. Thedevelopment of architectural splendour everywhere is really a sightworth coming to see, even from Italy. Observe, I always feel the charm. And yet I yearn back to my Florence--the dearer the farther. We slept at Dijon, where Robert, in a passion of friendship, went outtwice to stand before Maison Milsand (one of the shows of the town), andmuse and bless the threshold. Little did he dream that Milsand was thereat that moment, having been called suddenly from Paris by the dangerousillness of his mother. So we miss our friend; but we shall not, I think, altogether, for he talked of following us to the sea, Sarianna says, andeven if he is restrained from doing this, we shall pass some little timein Paris on our return, and so see him.... Mrs. Jameson is here, but goes on Saturday to England. [_Incomplete_] * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ 2 Rue de Perry, Le Havre, Maison Versigny:July 23, 1858 [postmark]. My dearest Fanny, -- ... I gave you an account of our journey to Paris, which I won't write over again, especially as you may have read somethings like it. In Paris we remained a fortnight except a day, and Iliked it as I always like Paris, for which I have a decided fancy. Andyet I did nothing, except in one shop, and in a fiacre driving round andround, and sometimes at a restaurant, dining round and round. But Parisis so full of life--murmurs so of the fountain of intellectual youth forever and ever--that rolling up the rue de Rivoli (much more theBoulevards) suggests a quicker beat of the fancy's heart; and I likeit--I like it. The architectural beauty is wonderful. Give me Venice onwater, Paris on land--each in its way is a dream city. If one had butthe sun there--such a sun as one has in Italy! Or if one had no lungshere--such lungs as are in me. But no. Under actual circumstancessomething different from Paris must satisfy me. Also, when all's saidand sighed. I love Italy--I love my Florence. I love that 'hole of aplace, ' as Father Prout called it lately--with all its dust, itscobwebs, its spiders even, I love it, and with somewhat of the kind ofblind, stupid, respectable, obstinate love which people feel when theytalk of 'beloved native lands. ' I feel this for Italy, by mistake forEngland. Florence is my chimney-corner, where I can sulk and be happy. But you haven't come to that yet. In spite of which, you will like theBaths of Lucca, just as you like Florence, for certain advantages--forthe exquisite beauty, and the sense of abstraction from the vulgaritiesand vexations of the age, which is the secret of the strange charm ofthe south, perhaps--who knows? And yet there are vulgarities andvexations even in Tuscany, if one digs for them--or doesn't dig, sometimes.... In Paris we saw Father Prout, who was in great force and kindness, andCharles Sumner, passing through the burning torture under the hands ofFrench surgeons, which is approved of by the brains of English surgeons. Do you remember the Jesuit's agony, in the 'Juif Errant'? Preciselythat. Exposed to the living coal for seven minutes, and the burns takingsix weeks to heal. Mr. Sumner refused chloroform--from some foolishheroic principle, I imagine, and suffered intensely. Of course he is notable to stir for some time after the operation, and can't read or sleepfrom the pain. Now, he is just 'healed, ' and is allowed to travel fortwo months, after which he is to return and be burned again. Isn't it atrue martyrdom? I ask. What is apprehended is paralysis, or at bestnervous infirmity for life, from the effect of the blows (on the spine)of that savage. Then, just as we arrived in Paris, dear Lady Elgin had another 'stroke, 'and was all but gone. She rallied, however, with her wonderful vitality, and we left her sitting in her garden, fixed to the chair, of course, and not able to speak a word, nor even to gesticulate distinctly, butwith the eloquent soul full and radiant, alive to both worlds. Robertand I sate there, talking politics and on other subjects, and there shesate and let no word drop unanswered by her bright eyes and smile. Itwas a beautiful sight. Robert fed her with a spoon from her soup-plate, and she signed, as well as she could, that he should kiss her foreheadbefore he went away. She was always so fond of Robert, as women are aptto be, you know--even _I_, a little.... Forster wrote the other day, melancholy with the misfortunes of hisfriends, though he doesn't name Dickens. Landor had just fled to his(Forster's) house in London for protection from _an action for libel_. See what a letter I have written. Write to me, dearest Fanny, and loveme. Oh, how glad I shall be to be back among you again in my Florence! Your ever affectionateBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ Maison Versigny, 2 Rue de Perry, Le Havre:July 24, 1858 [postmark]. Dearest Mona Nina, --Have you rather wondered at not hearing? We havebeen a-wandering, a-wandering over the world--have been to Étretat andfailed, and now are ignominiously settled at Havre--yes, at Havre, thename of which we should have scorned a week ago as a mere roaringcommercial city. But after all, as sometimes I say with originality, 'civilisation is a good thing. ' The country about Étretat is verypretty, and the coast picturesque with fantastic rocks, but theaccommodation dear in proportion to its badness; which I do believe isthe case everywhere with places, now and then even with persons--dear inproportion to their badness. We could get three bedrooms, a salon, andkitchen, one opening into another and no other access, and the kitchenpresenting the first door, all furnished exactly alike, except thatwhere the bedroom had a bed the kitchen had a stove; wooden chairs _ensuite_, not an inch of carpet, and just an inch of looking-glass in thebest bedroom. View, a potato-patch, and price two hundred francs amonth. Robert took it in a 'fine phrenzy, ' on which I rebelled, and madehim give it up on a sacrifice of ten francs, which was the only cheapthing in the place, as far as I observed anything. Also, the bay is sorestricted that whoever takes a step is 'commanded' by all the windowsof the primitive hotel and the few villas, and as people have nothingwhatever to do but to look at you, you may imagine the perfection of theanalysis. I should have been a fly in a microscope, feeling my legs andarms counted on all sides, and receiving no comfort from the scientificresults. So, you see, we 'gave it up' and came here in a sort ofdespair, meaning to take the railroad to Dieppe; when lo! our examiningforces find that the place here is very tenable, and we take a houseclose to the sea (though the view is interrupted) in a green garden, andquite away from a suggestion of streets and commerce. The bathing isgood, we have a post-office and reading-rooms at our elbow, and nothingdistracting of any kind. The house is large and airy, and our twofamilies are lodged in separate apartments, though we meet at dinner inour dining-room. Certainly the country immediately around Havre is notpretty, but we came for the sea after all, and the sea is open andsatisfactory. Robert has found a hole I can creep through to the veryshore, without walking many yards, and there I can sit on a bench andget strength, if so it pleases God. Have I not sent you a full account of us? Now if you would return me acent. Per cent. --_soll und haben_. I want so much to know all aboutyou--how you feel, dearest friend, and how you are. Do write and tell meof yourself. May God bless you ever and ever! Your affectionate and gratefulBA. * * * * * _To Madame Braun_ 2 Rue do Perry, Le Havre, Maison Versigny:August 10 [1858]. My dearest Madame Braun, --If you have not heard from me before, it hasnot been that I have not thought of you anxiously and tenderly, but Ihad the idea that so many must be thinking of you, and saying to youwith sad faces 'they were sorry, ' that I kept away, not to be the onetoo many. It seems so vain when we sympathise with a suffering friend. And yet it is _something_--oh yes, I have felt that! But you _knew_ Imust feel for you, if I teased you with words or not; and I, for mypart, hearing of you from others, felt shy, as I say, till I heard youwere better, of writing to you myself. And you _are_ feeling better, Mrs. Jameson tells me, and are somewhat more cheerful about your state. I thank God for this good news.... One of the few reasons for which I regret our absence from England thissummer is that I miss seeing you with my own eyes, and I should likemuch to see you and talk to you of things of interest to both of us. Ifillness suppresses in us a few sources of pleasure, it leaves the real_ich_ open to influences and keen-sighted to _facts_ which are as surely_natural_ as the fly's wing, though we are apt to consider them vaguelyas 'supernatural. ' 'More and more life is what we want' Tennyson wrote long ago, and thatis the right want. Indifference to life is disease, and therefore notstrength. But the life here is only half the apple--a cut out of theapple, I should say, merely meant to suggest the perfect round offruit--and there is in the world now, I can testify to you, _scientificproof_ that what we call death is a mere change of circumstances, achange of dress, a mere breaking of the outside shell and husk. Thissubject is so much the most interesting to me of all, that I can't helpwriting of it to you. Among all the ways of progress along which theminds of men are moving, this draws me most. There is much folly andfanaticism, unfortunately, because foolish men and women do not cease tobe foolish when they hit upon a truth. There was a man who hungbracelets upon plane trees. But it was a tree--it is atruth--notwithstanding; yes, and so much a truth that in twenty yearsthe probability is you will have no more doubters of the immortality ofsouls, and no more need of Platos to prove it. We have come here to dip _me_ in warm sea-water, in order to animprovement in strength, for I have been very weak and unwell of late, as perhaps Mrs. Jameson has told you. But the sea and the change havebrought me up again, as I hope they may yourself, and now I am lookingforward to getting back to Italy for the winter, and perhaps to Rome. Did you know Lady Elgin in Paris? She has been hopelessly, in theopinion of her physicians, affected by paralysis, but is now better, herdaughter writes to me. A most remarkable person Lady Elgin is. We lefther sitting in her garden, not able to speak--to articulate oneword--but with one of the most radiant happy faces I ever saw in man orwoman. I think I remember that you knew her. Her salon was one of themost agreeable in Paris, and she herself, with her mixture of learningand simplicity, one of the most interesting persons in it.... Dearest Madame Braun, I won't think of the possibility even of yourwriting to me, so little do I expect to hear. Indeed, I would not writeif I considered it would entail writing upon _you_. Only believe that Itenderly regard and think of you, and always shall. May God bless you, my dear friend! Your attached ELIZABETH B. BROWNING. * * * * * The following letter was written at Paris during the stay there whichintervened between leaving Havre and the return to Florence: * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ 6 Rue de Castiglione, Place Vendôme, Paris:October 2 [1858]. My dearest Isa, --I am saddened, saddened by your letter. We both are. Indeed, this last news from India must have struck--I know it did. Still, to your generous nature, long regret for your dear Louisa will beimpossible; and you, so given to forget yourself, will come to forget agrief which is only your own. For she was in the world as not of it, ina painful sense; she was cut off from the cheerful, natural developmentof ordinary human beings; and if, as was probable, the conviction ofthis dreary fact had fastened on her mind, the result would have beenperhaps demoralising, certainly depressing, more and more. Rather praiseGod for her therefore, dearest Isa, that she is gone above the cloud, gone where she can exercise active virtues and charities, instead ofbeing the mild patient object of the charities and virtues of herfriends. Perhaps she ministers to _you_ now instead of being ministeredto by you, while the remembrance of her life on earth is tenderly unitedto you ever, a proof before men and angels that _your_ life (whateveryou may please to say of yourself) has not been useless, nor barren ofgood and tender deeds.... In this letter and the last (such depressed letters!) you compare yourown fate with that of some others with an injustice which God measures, and which I too have knowledge of. Isa, you speak you know not what. Besure of one thing, however, that God has not been niggardly towards you, and that He never made a creature for which He did not make the worksuited to its hand. He never made a creature necessarily useless, norgave a life which it was not sin on the creature's part to holdunthankfully and throw back as a poor gift. Your excellent understandingwill work clear your spirits presently. Some of those whom you thinkenviable, if they showed you their secret griefs, unsuspected by you, would leave tears in your eyes for _them_, not _you_. Every heart knowsits own bitterness, and God knows when the bitterest drop is necessaryfor the heart's health. May He bless you, love you, teach you, strengthen you, make you serene and bright in Him, dear, dear Isa. Ihave spoken as to a sister; I have spoken as to my own soul in an hourof faintness. Let us take courage, Isa. Dear, I had just folded up your parcel for Miss Alexander that mybrother George should take it to-morrow. It has been my firstopportunity for England--at least, for London. But now I will carry itback to you.... Arabel stays with me till we go, which will be in a fortnight perhapsfrom now. We have an apartment in an exquisite situation, two paces fromthe Tuileries Gardens, first floor, three best bedrooms and twoservants' rooms, a closet of a dining-room, a salon--all small, butexquisitely comfortable and Parisian, looking into a court though, andwe are not tempted to stay the winter. No; we return to Florencefaithfully. Write again, and be happy, Isa; it is as if I said _begood_. Tell me, can it be true that Lytton is in Florence with hismother, as Father Prout assures us on the authority of Lady Walpole?... Write to your ever, in word and deed, loving BA. * * * * * In October the travellers were back in Florence, but this time only fora short stay of some six weeks, since it was decided that Rome would bemore suitable to Mrs. Browning's failing health during the winter. OnNovember 24 they reached Rome, and for the next six months werequartered, as in the winter of 1853-4, at No. 43 Via Bocca di Leone. Here it was that they heard the first mutterings of the storm which wasto burst during the following year and to result in the making of Italy. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ Casa Guidi: Saturday [about October 1858]. You do not come, dearest Fanny, though I am here waiting, and I begin tobe uneasy about you. Do at least write, do. We have been here sinceTuesday, and here is Saturday, and every morning there has been ananxious looking forward for you.... Miss ---- wrote to me in Paris to propose travelling with us, whichRobert lacked chivalry to accede to; and, in fact, our ways ofjourneying are too uncertain to admit of arrangements with anyone beyondour circle. For instance, we took nine days to get here from Paris, spending only one day at Chambéry, for the sake of Les Charmettes andRousseau. Robert played the 'Dream' on the old harpsichord, the keys ofwhich rattled in a ghastly way, as if it were the bones of him who onceso 'dreamed. ' Then there was the old watch hung up, without a tick init. At St. Jean de Maurienne we got into difficulties with diligences, and submitted to being thrown out for the night at Lanslebourg, I moredead than alive, and indeed I suffered much in passing the mountain nextmorning. Then again, on the sea, we had a _burrasca_, and the captainhad half a mind when half-way to Leghorn to turn back to Genoa. Passengers much frightened, including me, a little. A wretchedNeapolitan boat, with a machine 'inclined to go to the devil every timethe wind went anywhere, ' as I heard a French gentleman on board sayafterwards. Altogether we were so done up after eighteen hours of it, that we stayed at Leghorn instead of going on straight to Florence. Still, now I seem to have got over fatigue and the rest--and we keep ourfaces turned undeviatingly to Rome. Mdme. Du Quaire having carefullyapprised M. Mignaty that we left Paris on the thirteenth, our friendshere seem to have made up their minds that we had perished by land orwater, and Annunziata's poor sister had passed three days in tears, forinstance. Now, dearest Fanny, let me confess to you. I have not brought thebonnet. A bonnet is a personal matter, and I would not let anyone chooseone for _me_. Still, as you had more faith in man (or woman), I wouldhave risked even displeasing you, only Robert would not let me. He saidit was absurd--I 'did not know your size;' I 'could not know yourtaste;' in fact, he would not let me. Perhaps after all it is better. You shall see mine, which is the last novelty, and I will tell you theresults of having investigated the bonnet question generally. I was toldat a fashionable shop that hats might be worn out of one's teens; butin Paris, let me hasten to add, you don't see hats walking about excepton the heads of small girls. In Rome it may be otherwise, as at theseaside it was. Bonnets are a great deal larger, but you shall see. Oh, so glad I am to be back--so glad, so glad! And so happy I shall be to see you, dearest Fanny, whom, till now, Ihave not thanked for the pretty, pretty sketch. I recognised the personsat a glance, you threw into them so much character.... Your ever most affectionateE. B. B. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Florence: about November 1858. ] Robert's uncertainty about Rome, my dearest Sarianna, has led him intodelay of writing. We dropped here upon summer, and a few daysafterwards, just as suddenly, the winter dropped upon _us_. Suchwonderful weather, such cold, such snow--enough to strangle one. Therain has come, however, to-day, and though everything feels wretchedenough, and I am languid about schemes of travelling, we talk of goingnext week, should nothing hinder. 'If it be possible After much grief and pain. ' Peni would rather stay, I believe. His Florence is in his heart still. Robert will have told you about his bust, [59] which is exquisite in theclay, and will be exhibited in London in the marble next May. Thelikeness, the poetry, the ideal grace and infantile reality are allthere. I am so happy to have it. I set about teasing Robert till he gaveit to me, and, as he really loses nothing thereby, I accepted at once, as you may suppose. I would rather have given up Rome and had the bust;but the artist was generous, and would only accept what would cover theexpenses, twenty-five guineas. He said he 'would not otherwise do it forus, as he asked in the first place to be allowed to make the sketch inclay, and would not appear to have laid a trap for an order. ' So we areall three very happy and grateful to one another--which is pleasant. Ifeel the most obliged perhaps of the three--obliged to the othertwo--and ought to be, after the napoleons dropt in Paris, Sarianna! Oh no; the sea was necessary from Genoa. The expense of the journeywould have been very much increased if we had taken the whole way byland, and it was a great thing to escape that rough Gulf of Lyons. Thejourney to Rome will be rendered easy to Robert's pocket by theextraordinary chance of Mr. Eckley's empty carriage, otherwise therepeated pulls might have pulled us down too low. Peni will write to you. He loves his nonno and you very much--tellnonno; and my love goes with my message. May God bless both of you! Love to M. Milsand. Your affectionateBA. * * * * * _Robert Browning to Miss Browning_ Rome, 43 Bocca di Leone:Friday, November 26, 1858 [postmark]. Dearest Sis, --You received a letter written last thing on Wednesday, 18th. We started next day with perfectly fine mild weather and everysort of comfort, and got to our first night's stage, Poggio Bagnoli, with great ease; with the same advantages next day, we passed Arezzo andreached Camuscia, and on Saturday slept at Perugia, having found thejourney delightful. Sunday was rainy, but just as mild, so Ba did notsuffer at all; we slept at Spoleto. Rain again on Monday. We reachedTerni early in the day in order to go to the Falls, but the thing wasimpossible for Ba. Eckley, his mother-in-law, and I went, however, getting drenched, but they were fine, the rain and melted snow havingincreased the waters extraordinarily. On Tuesday we had fine weatheragain to Cività Castellana; there we found that on the previous day, while we were staying at Terni, a carriage was stopped and robbed in theroad we otherwise should have pursued. They said such a thing had nothappened for years. On Wednesday afternoon, four o'clock, we reachedRome, with beautiful weather; so it had been for some four out of ourseven days. Ba bore the journey irregularly well; of course she has thushad a week of open air, beside the change, which always benefits her. Wealways had the windows of the carriage open. We passed Wednesday nightat an hotel in order to profit by any information friends might be ableto furnish, but we ended by returning to the rooms here we occupiedbefore, of which we knew the virtues--a blaze of sun on the frontrooms--and absolute healthiness. Rents are enormous; we pay only tendollars a month more than before, in consideration of the desire the oldlandlady had to get us again. To anybody else the price would have been20 more--60 in all--for which we are to pay 40. The Eckleys took _goodrooms_ and pay 1, 000 (£210 or 15) for six months! One can't do _that_. The best is that they have thoroughly cleaned and painted the place, andeverything is very satisfactorily arranged. We take the apartment forfour months, meaning to be at liberty to go to Naples if we like. Wehave no fire this morning while I write, but it is before breakfast andBa may like the sight of one, tho' I rather think she will not. Romelooks very well, and I hope we shall have a happier time of it thanbefore. Many friends are here and everybody is very kind. The Eckleyswere extravagantly good to us, something beyond conception almost. Wehave seen Miss Cushman, Hatty, [60] Leighton, Cartwright, the Storys, Page and his new (third) wife, Gibson, beside the Brackens and Mrs. Mackenzie; and there are others I shall see to-day. Ferdinando was senton by sea with the luggage, and met us at the gate. It has been anexpensive business altogether, but I think we shall not regret it. Idaresay you have mild weather at Paris also. These premature beginningsof cold break down and leave the rest of the year the warmer, if not thebetter for them. Dearest Sis, write and tell me all the news of your twoselves. Do you hear anything about Reuben's leaving London? Anything ofLady Elgin? How is Madame Milsand? I will send you the last 'Ath. ' Ihave received, but break off here rather abruptly, in order to let Bawrite. Good-bye. God bless you both. Kindest love to Milsand. Yours ever affectionatelyR. B. * * * * * _E. B. Browning to Miss Browning_ My dearest Sarianna, --I don't know whether this letter from Rome willsurprise you, but we have done it at last. Our journey was mostprosperous, the wonderful inrush of winter which buried all Italy insnow, and for some days rendered the possibility of any change ofquarters so more than doubtful (I myself gave it up for days), havinggiven way to an inrush of summer as wonderful. The change was sopleasant that I bore with perfect equanimity the lamentations of certainEnglish acquaintances of ours in Florence, who declared it was the mostfrightful and dangerous climate that could be, that now one was frozento death and the next day burnt and melted, and that people couldn't behealthy under such transitions. But all countries of the south aresubject to the same of course wherever there is a southern sun, andmountains to retain snow. Even in Paris you complain of something alittle like it, because of the sun. We left Florence in a blaze ofsunshine accordingly, and there and everywhere found the countrytransfigured back into summer, except for two days of April rain. Of thekindness of our dear friends Mr. And Mrs. Eckley I am moved when I tryto speak. They humiliate me by their devotion. Such generosity anddelicacy, combined with so much passionate sentiment (there is no otherword), are difficult to represent. The Americans are great in somerespects, not that Americans generally are like these, but that thesecould scarcely be English--for instance, that mixture of enthusiasm andsimplicity we have not. Our journey was delightful and not without someincidents, which might have been accidents. We were as nearly aspossible thrown once into a ditch and once down a mountain precipice, the spirited horses plunging on one side, but at last Mr. Eckley lent ushis courier, who sate on the box by the coachman and helped him tomanage better. Then there was a fight between our oxen-drivers, one ofthem attempting to stab the other with a knife, and Robert rushing inbetween till Peni and I were nearly frantic with fright. No harmhappened, however, except that Robert had his trousers torn. And weescaped afterwards certain banditti, who stopped a carriage only the daybefore on the very road we travelled, and robbed it of sixty-two scudi. Here at Rome we are still fortunate, for with enormous prices ranklingaround us we get into our old quarters at eleven pounds a month. Therooms are smaller than our ambition would fain climb to (one climbs, also, a little too high on the stairs), but on the whole the quiethealthfulness and sunshine are excellent things, particularly in Rome, and we are perfectly contented.... Rome is so full that I am proceeding to lock up my doors throughout theday. I can't live without some use of life. Here must come the break. May God bless you both! Pen's love with mine to the dear nonno andyourself. BA. * * * * * _To Mr. Ruskin_ Rome, 43 Bocca di Leone: January 1, 1859. My dear Mr. Ruskin, --There is an impulse upon me to write to you, and asit ought to have come long ago, I yield to it, and am glad that it comeson this first day of a new year to inaugurate the time. It may be a goodomen for _me_. Who knows? We received your letter at Florence and very much did it touch me--us, Ishould say--and then I would have written if you hadn't bade us wait foranother letter, which has not come to this day. Shall I say one thing?The sadness of that letter struck me like the languor after victory, foryou who have fought many good fights and never for a moment seemed todespond before, write this word and this. After treading the world downin various senses, you are tired. It is natural perhaps, but this evilwill pass like other evils, and I wish you from my heart a good clearnoble year, with plenty of work, and God consciously over all to giveyou satisfaction. What would this life be, dear Mr. Ruskin, if it hadnot eternal relations? For my part, if I did not believe so, I shouldlay my head down and die. Nothing would be worth doing, certainly. But Iam what many people call a 'mystic, ' and what I myself call a 'realist, 'because I consider that every step of the foot or stroke of the pen herehas some real connection with and result in the hereafter. 'This life's a dream, a fleeting show!' no indeed. That isn't my'_doxy_. ' I don't think that nothing is worth doing, but that everythingis worth doing--everything good, of course--and that everything whichdoes good for a moment does good for ever, in _art_ as well as inmorals. Not that I look for arbitrary punishment or reward (the lastleast, certainly. I would no more impute merit to the human than yourSpurgeon would), but that I believe in a perpetual sequence, accordingto God's will, and in what has been called a 'correspondence' betweenthe natural world and the spiritual. Here I stop myself with a strong rein. It is fatal, dear Mr. Ruskin, towrite letters on New Year's day. One can't help moralising; one falls onthe metaphysical vein unaware. Forgive me. We are in Rome you see. We have been very happy and found rooms swimmingall day in sunshine, when there is any sun, and yet not ruinously dear. I was able to go out on Christmas morning (a wonderful event for me) andhear the silver trumpets in St. Peter's. Well, it was very fine. I neveronce thought of the Scarlet Lady, nor of the Mortara case, nor anythingto spoil the pleasure. Yes, and I enjoyed it both æsthetically anddevotionally, putting my own words to the music. Was it wise, or wrong? But we have had and are having some cold, some tramontana, and I havekept house ever since. Only in Rome there's always hope of a good warmscirocco. We talk of seeing Naples before we turn home to our Florence, to keep feast for Dante. It is delightful to hear of all you are _permitted_ to do for Englandmeanwhile in matters of art, and one of these days we shall go north totake a few happy hours of personal advantage out of it all. Not thisyear, however, I think. We have done duty to the north too lately. Nowit seems to me we have the right (of virtue, in spite of what I said onanother page, or rather, _because_ I said it in good humaninconsistency), the right to have and hold our Italy in undisturbedpossession. I never feel at home anywhere else, or to _live_ rightlyanywhere else at all. It's a horrible want of patriotism, of course, only, if I were upon trial, I might say in a low voice a few things tosoften the judgment against me on account of that sin. Ah! we missed youat Havre! If you had come it would have been something pleasant toremember that detestable place by, besides the salt-water which profitedone's health a little. We were in Paris too some six weeks in all(besides eight weeks at Havre!) and Paris has a certain charm for mealways. If we had seen you in Paris! But no, you must have floated pastus, close, close, yet we missed you. A good happy new year we wish to Mr. And Mrs. Ruskin, as to yourself, and, dear Mr. Ruskin, to your mother I shall say that my child isdeveloping in a way to make me very contented and thankful. Yes, I thankGod for him more and more, and _she_ can understand that, I know. Hismusical faculty is a decided thing, and he plays on the piano quiteremarkably for his age (through his father's instruction) while I amwriting this. He is reading aloud to me an Italian translation of 'MonteCristo, ' and with a dramatic intelligence which would strike you, as itdoes perhaps, that I should select such a book for a child of nine yearsold to read at all. It's rather young to be acclimated to French novels, is it not? But the difficulty of getting Italian books is great, andthere's a good deal in the early part of 'Monte Cristo, ' the prisonpart, very attractive. His voice was full of sobs when poor Dantes wasconsigned to the Château d'If. "Do you mean to say, mama, that _thatboy_ is to stay there all his life?" He made me tell him 'to make himhappy, ' as he said. For the rest he reads French and German, and we shall have to beginLatin in another year I suppose. Do you advise that, you, Mr. Ruskin? Hehas not given up the drawing neither. Ah! but there is a weight beyondthe post, whatever your goodness may bear, and I must leave a littlespace for Robert. May God bless you, my dear friend! Dare I say it? it _came_. Affectionately yours always, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. * * * * * _Robert Browning to Mr. Ruskin_ I am to say something, dear Ruskin; it shall be only the best of wishesfor this and all other years; go on again like the noble and dear manyou are to us all, and especially to us two out of them all. Whenever Ichance on an extract, a report, it lights up the dull newspaper stuffwrapt round it and makes me glad at heart and clearer in head. We, forour part, have just sent off a corrected 'Aurora Leigh, ' which is thebetter for a deal of pains, we hope, and my wife deserves. There will bea portrait from a photograph done at Havre without retouching--good, Ithink. Truest love to you and yours--your father and mother. Do help usby a word every now and then. Affectionately yours, R. B. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ [Rome]: 43 Bocca di Leone: January 7 [1859]. My dearest Isa, --Your letter seemed long in coming, as this will seem toyou, I fear. I ought to have answered mine at once, and put off doing sofrom reason to reason, and from day to day. Very busy I have been, sending off seven of the nine books of 'Aurora, '[61] having dizziedmyself with the 'ifs' and 'ands, ' and done some little good I hope atmuch cost.... As to the Roman climate, we have had some beautiful weather, but Robertwas calling his gods to witness (the goddess Tussis among them) that henever felt it so cold in Florence--never. Fountains frozen, Isa, and thetramontana tremendous. But it can't last--that's the comfort at Rome;and meantime we are housed exquisitely in our lion's mouth; the new_portiere_ and universal carpeting keeping it snugger than ever, and thesun over-streaming us through six windows. I have just been saying thatwhenever I come to Rome I shall choose to come here. The only fault is, the height and the smallness of the rooms; and, in spite of the last, wehave managed to have and hold twenty people and upwards through a_serata_. Peni has had a bad cold, from over-staying the time on thePincio one afternoon, and I have kept him in the house these ten days. Such things one may do by one's lion-cubs; but the lions are harder todeal with, and Robert caught cold two or three days ago; in spite ofwhich he chose to get up at six every morning as usual and go out towalk with Mr. Eckley. Only by miracle and nux is he much better to-day. I thought he was going to have a furious grippe, as last year and theyear before. I must admit, however, that he is extremely well just now, to speak generally, and that this habit of regular exercise (withoccasional homoeopathy) has thrown him into a striking course ofprosperity, as to looks, spirits and appetite. He eats 'vulpinely' hesays--which means that a lark or two is no longer enough for dinner. Atbreakfast the loaf perishes by Gargantuan slices. He is plunged intogaieties of all sorts, caught from one hand to another like a ball, hasgone out every night for a fortnight together, and sometimes two orthree times deep in a one night's engagements. So plenty of distraction, and no Men and Women. Men and women from without instead! I am shut upin the house of course, and go to bed when he goes out--and the worstis, that there's a difficulty in getting books. Still, I get what I can, and stop up the chinks with Swedenborg; and in health am very well, forme, and in tranquillity excellently well. Not that there are not peoplemore than enough who come to see me, but that there is nothing vexatiousjust now; life goes smoothly, I thank God, and I like Rome better than Idid last time. The season is healthy too (for Rome). I have only heardof one English artist since we came, who arrived, sickened, died, andwas buried, before anyone knew who he was. Besides ordinary cases ofslight Roman fever among the English, Miss Sherwood (who with her fatherwas at Florence) has had it slightly, and Mrs. Marshall who came to usfrom Tennyson. (A Miss Spring-Rice she was. ) But the poor Hawthornessuffer seriously. Una is dissolved to a shadow of herself by reiteratedattacks, and now Miss Shepherd is seized with gastric fever. Mr. Hawthorne is longing to get away--where, he knows not. My Peni has conquered his cold, and when the weather gets milder I shalllet him out. Meanwhile he has taken to--what do you suppose? I go intohis room at night and find him with a candle regularly settled on thetable by him, and he reading, deeply rapt, an Italian translation of'Monte Cristo. ' Pretty well for a lion-cub, isn't it? He is enchantedwith this book, lent to him by our padrona; and exclaims every now andthen, 'Oh, magnificent, magnificent!' And this morning, at breakfast, hegravely delivered himself to the following effect: 'Dear mama, for thefuture I mean to read _novels_. I shall read all Dumas's, to begin. Andthen I shall like to read papa's favourite book, "Madame Bovary. "'Heavens, what a lion-cub! Robert and I could only answer by a burst oflaughter. It was so funny. That little dot of nine and a half full ofsuch hereditary tendencies. And 'Madame Bovary' in a course of education!... May God bless you, my much-loved Isa, for this and other years beyondalso! I shall love you all that way--says the genius of the ring. Your ever lovingBA. FOOTNOTES: [46] Ferdinando Romagnoli. He died at Venice, in the Palazzo Rezzonico, January 1893. His widow (who, as the following letters show, continuedto be called Wilson in the family) is still living with Mr. R. B. Browning. [47] This refers to a note from Mrs. Browning to Miss Haworth, inquiringwhether it was true that she was engaged to be married. [48] The notorious medium, prototype of Mr. Browning's 'Sludge. ' Hesubsequently changed his name to Home. [49] An attempted revision of the poem, subsequently abandoned, asexplained in the preface addressed to M. Milsand in 1863. [50] Mr. Browning and the boy had been suffering from sore throats. [51] For the substance of this information I am indebted to Mr. CharlesAldrich, to whom the letter was presented by Mrs. Kinney, and throughwhose kindness it is here printed. The original now forms part of theAldrich collection in the Historical Department of Iowa, U. S. A. [52] The husband of Wilson, Mrs. Browning's maid. [53] An odd commentary on this 'poem' may be found in Mrs. Orr's _Lifeof Robert Browning_, p. 219. [54] See _Aurora Leigh_, p. 276: 'I found a house at Florence on the hill Of Bellosguardo. 'Tis a tower which keeps A post of double observation o'er That valley of Arno (holding as a hand The outspread city) straight toward Fiesole And Mount Morello and the setting sun, The Vallombrosan mountains opposite, Which sunrise fills as full as crystal cups Turned red to the brim because their wine is red. No sun could die nor yet be born unseen By dwellers at my villa: morn and eve Were magnified before us in the pure Illimitable space and pause of sky, Intense as angels' garments blanched with God, Less blue than radiant. From the outer wall Of the garden drops the mystic floating grey Of olive trees (with interruptions green From maize and vine), until 'tis caught and torn Upon the abrupt black line of cypresses Which signs the way to Florence. Beautiful The city lies along the ample vale, Cathedral, tower and palace, piazza and street, The river trailing like a silver cord Through all, and curling loosely, both before And after, over the whole stretch of land Sown whitely up and down its opposite slopes With farms and villas. ' Miss Blagden's villa was the Villa Bricchieri, which is alluded toelsewhere in the letters. [55] A line or two has been cut off the bottom of the sheet at thisplace. [56] The _Elements of Drawing_. [57] Orsini's attempt on the life of the Emperor Napoleon on January 14, 1858. [58] Referring to the Conspiracy Bill introduced by Lord Palmerstonafter the Orsini conspiracy against Napoleon in January 1858, and to theoutcry against it, as an act of subservience to France, which led toPalmerston's fall. Count Walewski was the French Minister for ForeignAffairs, and his despatch, alluded to below, called the attention of theEnglish Government to the shelter afforded by England to conspirators ofthe type of Orsini. [59] A bust of the child, by Monroe. [60] Miss Hosmer. [61] The fourth edition, in which several alterations were made. CHAPTER X 1859-60 At this point in Mrs. Browning's correspondence we reach the firstallusion to the political crisis which had now become acute, and ofwhich the letters that follow are full, almost to excess. On January 1Napoleon had astounded Europe by his language to the Austrian ambassadorat Paris, in which he spoke of the bad relations unfortunatelysubsisting between their States. On the 10th Victor Emmanuel declaredthat he must listen to the cry of pain which came up to him from allItaly. After this it was clear that there was nothing to do but toprepare for war. It was in vain that England pressed for a EuropeanCongress, with the view of arranging a general disarmament. Sardiniaprofessed willingness to accept it, but Austria declined, and on April23 sent an ultimatum to Victor Emmanuel, demanding unconditionaldisarmament, which was naturally refused. On the 29th Austria declaredwar, and her troops crossed the Ticino--an act which Napoleon hadalready announced would be considered as tantamount to a declaration ofwar with France. With regard to the tone of Mrs. Browning's letters during this period ofpolitics and war, there are a few considerations to be borne in mind. Her two deepest political convictions were here united in one--her faithin the honesty of Louis Napoleon, and her enthusiasm for Italian freedomand unity. There were many persons in England, and some in Italyitself, who held the latter of these faiths without the former; but forsuch she had no tolerance. Hence not only those who sympathised, as nodoubt some Englishmen did sympathise, with Austria, but also those who, while wishing well to Italy, looked with suspicion upon Napoleon'sinterference, incurred her uncompromising wrath; and not even theconference of Villafranca, not even the demand for Nice and Savoy, couldlead her to question Napoleon's sincerity, or to look with patience onthe English policy and English public opinion of that day. The instinctof Italians has been truer. They have recognised the genuine sympathyand support which England extended to them on many occasions during thelong struggle for Italian unity, and the friendship between the twocountries to-day has its root in the events of forty and fifty yearsago. That Robert Browning did not entirely share his wife's views will beclear to all readers of 'Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau;' but there is notthe smallest sign that this caused the least shadow of disagreementbetween them. Indeed for the moment the difference was practicallyannulled, since Robert Browning believed, what was very probably thecase, that the Emperor's friendship for Italy was genuine, so far as itwent. But it may be believed that he was less surprised than she whenNapoleon's zeal for Italian independence stopped short at the frontiersof Venetia, and was transformed into an anxiety to get out of the warwithout further risk, and with an eye to material compensation in Savoyand Nice. It is also right to bear in mind the failing condition of Mrs. Browning's health. The strain of anxiety unquestionably overtaxed herstrength, and probably told upon her mental tone in a way that mayaccount for much that seems exaggerated, and at times even hysterical, in her expressions regarding those who did not share her views. Hererrors were noble and arose from a passionate nobility of character, towhich much might be forgiven, if there were much to forgive. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ Rome: [about February 1, 1859]. I am sure Robert has been too long about writing this time, dearestSarianna. It did not strike either of us till this morning that it wasso long. We have all been well; and Robert is whirled round and roundso, in this most dissipated of places (to which Paris is really graveand quiet), that he scarcely knows if he stands on his feet or hishead.... Since Christmas Day I have been out twice, once to see Mr. Page'sgorgeous picture (just gone to Paris), and once to run back again beforethe wind; but I am too susceptible. The weather has been glorious toeverybody with some common sense in their lungs. And to-day it ispossible even to _me_, they say, and I am preparing for an effort. Pen is quite well and rosy. Still we hear of illness, and I am veryparticular and nervous about him. All Mr. Hawthorne's family have beenill one after another, and now he is struck himself with the fever. Let me remember to say how the professor's letter seemed to say somuch--too much. Particularly just now. I for one can receive no compliments about'English honesty' &c. , after the ignoble way we are behaving aboutItaly. I dare say dear M. Milsand (who doesn't sympathise much with ourItaly) thinks it 'imprudent' of the Emperor to make this move, but thatit is generous and magnanimous he will admit. The only great-heartedpolitician in Europe--but chivalry always came from France. The emotionhere is profound--and the terror, among the priests. Always I expected this from Napoleon, and, if he will carry out hisdesire, Peni and I are agreed to kneel down and kiss his feet. Thepamphlet which proceeds from him is magnificent. I said it long ago--toJessie White I said it, 'You would destroy, ' said I, 'the only man whohas it in his heart and head to do anything for Italy. ' Most happily Robert's and my protestation went to America in time; justbefore the present contingency. Yes, Jessie should not have permittedour names to be used so. Being passive even was a fault--yes, and morethan a fault. Robert is in great spirits and very well indeed.... Ever your most affectionate, BA. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ [Rome]: 43 Bocca di Leone: March 27, [1859]. My ever dearest Isa, --You don't write, not you! I wrote last, remember, and though you may not have liked all the politics of the same, youmight have responded to some of the love, you naughty Isa; so I think Ishall get up a 'cause célèbre' for myself (it shall be my turn now), andI shall prove (or try) that nobody has loved me (or can) up to this dateof the 26th of March, 1859. Dearest Isa, seriously speaking, you mustwrite, for I am anxious to know that you are recovering your good looksand proper bodily presence as to weight. Just now I am scarcely of sanemind about Italy. It even puts down the spirit-subject. I pass throughcold stages of anxiety, and white heats of rage. Robert accuses me ofbeing 'glad' that the new 'Times' correspondent has been suddenly seizedwith Roman fever. It is I who have the true fever--in my brain andheart. I am chiefly frightened lest Austria yield on unimportant pointsto secure the vital ones; and Louis Napoleon, with Germany and Englandagainst him, is in a very hard position. God save us all! Massimo d' Azeglio[62] has done us the real honor of coming to see us, and seldom have I, for one, been more gratified. A noble chivalroushead, and that largeness of the political _morale_ which I find nowhereamong statesmen, except in the head of the French Government. Azegliospoke bitterly of English policy, stigmatised it as belonging to a pastage, the rags of old traditions. He said that Louis Napoleon had madehimself great simply by comprehending the march of civilisation (thetrue Christianity, said Azeglio) and by leading it. Exactly what I havealways thought. Azeglio disbelieves in any aim of territorialaggrandisement on the part of France. He is full of hope for Italy. Itis '48 over again, said he, but with matured actors. He finds a unity ofdetermination among the Italians wherever he goes. Well, Azeglio is a man. Seldom have I seen a man whom I felt moresympathy towards. He has a large, clear, attractive 'sphere, ' as weSwedenborgians say. The pamphlet Collegno never reached us. The Papal Government hassnatched it on the way. Farini's is very good. Thank you for all yourkindness as to pamphlets (not letters, Isa! I distinguish in mygratitude). We lent Mr. Trollope's to Odo Russell, [63] the Englishplenipotentiary, and to Azeglio, so that it has produced fruit in ourhands. Did I write since Robert dined with the Prince of Wales? Col. Brucecalled here and told me that though the budding royalty was not to beexposed to the influences of mixed society, the society of the mosteminent men in Rome was desired for him, and he (Col. Bruce) knew itwould 'gratify the Queen that the Prince should make the acquaintance ofMr. Browning. ' Afterwards came the invitation, or 'command. ' I toldRobert to set them all right on Italian affairs, and to eschewcompliments, which, you know, is his weak point. (He said the other dayto Mrs. Story: 'I had a delightful evening yesterday at your house. I_never spoke to you once_, ' and encouraged an artist, who was 'quitedissatisfied with his works, ' as he said humbly, by anencouraging--'But, my dear fellow, if you were satisfied, you would beso _very easily_ satisfied!' Happy! wasn't it?) Well, so I exhorted myRobert to eschew compliments and keep to Italian politics, and we bothlaughed, as at a jest. But really he had an opportunity, the subject waspermitted, admitted, encouraged, and Robert swears that he talked on ithigher than his breath. But, oh, the English, the English! I amunpatriotic and disloyal to a _crime_, Isa, just now. Besides which, asa matter of principle, I never put my trust in princes, except in theparvenus. Not that the little prince here talked politics. But some of his suitedid, and he listened. He is a gentle, refined boy, Robert says.... May God bless you, dearest Isa. I am, your very loving BA. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ Rome: [about April 1859]. Dearest Sarianna, --People are distracting the 'Athenæums, ' Robertcomplains, as they distract other things, but in time you will recoverthem, I hope. Mr. Leighton has made a beautiful pencil-drawing, highlyfinished to the last degree, of him;[64] very like, though not on thepoetical side, which is beyond Leighton. Of this you shall have aphotograph soon; and in behalf of it, I pardon a drawing of me which Ishould otherwise rather complain of, I confess. We are all much saddened just now (in spite of war) by the state of UnaHawthorne, a lovely girl of fifteen, Mr. Hawthorne's daughter, who, after a succession of attacks of Roman fever, has had another, complicated with gastric, which has fallen on the lungs, and she onlylives from hour to hour. Homoeopathic treatment persisted in, whichnever answers in these fevers. Ah--there has been much illness in Rome. Miss Cushman has had an attack, but you would not recognise other names. We are well, however, Pen like a rose, and Robert still expanding. Dissipations decidedly agree with Robert, there's no denying that, though he's horribly hypocritical, and 'prefers an evening with me athome, ' which has grown to be a kind of dissipation also. We are in great heart about the war, as if it were a peace, without needof war. Arabel writes alarmed about our funded money, which we are notlikely to lose perhaps, precisely because we are _not_ alarmed. Thesubject never occurred to me, in fact. I was too absorbed in the generalquestion--yes, and am. So it dawns upon you, Sarianna, that things at Rome and at Naples arenot quite what they should be. A certain English reactionary party wouldgladly make the Pope a _paratonnerre_ to save Austria, but this won'tdo. The poor old innocent Pope would be paralytically harmless but forthe Austrian, who for years has supported the corruptions here againstFrance; and even the King of Naples would drop flat as a pricked bubbleif Austria had not maintained that iniquity also. We who have lived inItaly all these years, know the full pestilent meaning of Austriaeverywhere. What is suffered in Lombardy _exceeds what is sufferedelsewhere_. Now, God be thanked, here is light and hope of deliverance. Still you doubt whether the French are free enough themselves to givefreedom! Well, I won't argue the question about what 'freedom' is. Weshall be perfectly satisfied here with French universal suffrage and theballot, the very same democratical government which advanced Liberalsare straining for in England. But, however that may be, the Italians areperfectly contented at being liberated by the French, and entirelydisinclined to wait the chance of being more honorably assisted by their'free' and virtuous friend on the other side of the hedge (or Channel), who is employed at present in buttoning up his own pockets lestperadventure he should lose a shilling: giving dinners though, and thesmaller change, to 'Neapolitan exiles, ' whom only this very cry of 'war'has freed. Robert and I have been of one mind lately in these things, whichcomforts me much. But the chief comfort is--the state of facts. Massimo d' Azeglio came to see us, and talked nobly, with that noblehead of his. I was far prouder of his coming than of another personaldistinction you will guess at, though I don't pretend to have beeninsensible even to that. 'It is '48 over again, ' said he, 'with maturedactors. ' In fact, the unity throughout Italy is wonderful. What has beenproperly called 'the crimes of the Holy Alliance' will be abolished thistime, if God defends the right, which He will, I think. I have faith andhope. But people are preparing to run, and perhaps we shall be forced to usethe gendarmes against the brigands (with whom the country is beset, asin all cases of general disturbance) when we travel, but this is all thedifference it will make with us. Tuscany is only restraining itself outof deference to France, and not to complicate her difficulties. War mustbe, if it is not already. Yes, I was 'not insensible, ' democratical as I am, and un-English as Iam said to be. Col. Bruce told me that 'he knew it would be gratifyingto the Queen that the Prince should make Robert's acquaintance. ' 'Shewished him to know the most eminent men in Rome. ' It might be aweakness, but I was pleased. Pen's and my love to the dearest Nonno and you. Your affectionateBA. * * * * * In May, shortly after the outbreak of war, the Brownings returned toFlorence, whither a division of French troops had been sent, under thecommand of Prince Napoleon. The Grand Duke had already retired beforethe storm, and a provisional government had been formed. It was herethat they heard the news of Magenta (June 4) and Solferino (June 24), with their wholly unexpected sequel, the armistice and the meeting ofthe two Emperors at Villafranca. The latter blow staggered even Mrs. Browning for the moment, but though her frail health suffered from theshock, her faith in Louis Napoleon was proof against all attack. Shecould not have known the good military reasons he had for not risking areversal of the successes which he had won more through his enemy'sdefects than through the excellence of his own army or dispositions; butshe found an explanation in the supposed intrigues of England andGermany, which frustrated his good intentions. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ Florence: [about May 1859]. My dearest Sarianna, --You will like to hear, if only by a scratch, thatwe are back in Tuscany with all safety, after a very pleasant journeythrough an almost absolute solitude. Florence is perfectly tranquil andat the same time most unusually animated, what with the French troopsand the passionate gratitude of the people. We have two great flags onour terrace, the French flag and the Italian, and Peni keeps a moveablelittle flag between them, which (as he says) 'he can take out in thecarriage sometimes. ' Pen is enchanted with the state of things ingeneral, and the French camp in particular, which he came home from onlyin the dusk last night, having 'enjoyed himself so very much in seeingthose dear French soldiers play at blindman's buff. ' They won't, however, remain long here, unless the Austrians threaten to come down onus, which, I trust, they will be too much absorbed to do. The melancholypoint in all this is the dirt eaten and digested with a calm face byEngland and the English. Now that I have exhausted myself withindignation and protestation, Robert has taken up the same note, whichis a comfort. I would rather hear my own heart in his voice. Certainlyit must be still more bitter for him than for me, seeing that he hasmore national predilections than I have, and has struggled longer to seedifferently. Not only the prestige, but the very respectability ofEngland is utterly lost here--and nothing less is expected than herultimate and open siding with Austria in the war. If she does, we shallwash our hands like so many Pilates, which will save us but not England. We are intending to remain here as long as we can bear the heat, whichis not just now too oppressive, though it threatens to be so. We must besomewhere near, to see after our property in the case of an Austrianapproach, which is too probable, we some of us think; and I just hearthat a body of the French will remain to meet the contingency. OurItalians are fighting as well as soldiers can. Tell M. Milsand, with my love, that if I belonged to his country, Ishould feel very proud at this time. As to the Emperor, he is sublime. He will appear so to all when he comes out of this war (as I believe)with clean and empty hands.... Robert gives ten scudi a month (a little more than two guineas) to thewar as long as it lasts, and Peni is to receive half a paul every day heis good at his lessons, that he also may give to the great cause. I mustwrite a word to the dear nonno. May God bless both of you, says your Affectionate Sister, BA. * * * * * _To Mr. Browning, Senior_ [Same date. ] Yes, indeed, I missed the revolution in Tuscany, dearest Nonno, whichwas a loss--but perhaps, in compensation (who knows?), I shall be in foran Austrian bombardment or brigandage, or something as good or bad. But, after all, you are not to be anxious about us because of a jest of mine. We have Tuscan troops on the frontier, and French troops in the city, and although the Duchess of Parma has graciously given leave, they say, to the Austrians to cross her dominions in order to get into Tuscany, weshall be well defended. We are all full of hope and calm, and neverdoubt of the result. If ever there was a holy cause it is this; if everthere was a war on which we may lawfully ask God's blessing, it is this. The unanimity and constancy of the Italian people are beautiful towitness. The affliction of ten years has ripened these souls. Never wasa contrast greater than what is to-day and what was in '48. No moredistrust, nor division, nor vacillation, and a gratitude to the Frenchnation which is quite pathetic. Peni is all in a glow about Italy, and wishes he was 'great boy enough'to fight. Meantime he does his lessons for the fighters--half a paul aday when he is good. Mr. Del Bene thought him much improved in his music, and I hope he getson in other things, and that when we bring him back to you (crowned withItalian laurels), you will think so too. Meanwhile think of us and loveus, dearest Nonno. I always think of your kindness to me. Your ever affectionate Daughter, BA. * * * * * _To Mr. Ruskin_ Casa Guidi: June 3, [1859]. My dear Mr. Ruskin, --We send to you every now and then somebody hungryfor a touch from your hand; we who are famished for it ourselves. Butthis time we send you a man whom you will value perfectly for himselfand be kind to from yourself, quite spontaneously. He is the Americanartist, Page, an earnest, simple, noble artist and man, who carries hisChristianity down from his deep heart to the point of his brush. Drawhim out to talk to you, and you will find it worth while. He has learntmuch from Swedenborg, and used it in his views upon art. Much of it (ifnew) may sound to you wild and dreamy--but the dream will admit oflogical inference and philosophical induction, and when you open youreyes, it is still there. He has not been successful in life--few are who are uncompromising intheir manner of life. When I speak of life, I include art, which is lifeto him. I should like you to see what a wonder of light and colour andspace and breathable air, he put into his Venus rising from thesea--refused on the ground of nudity at the Paris Exhibition thissummer. The loss will be great to him, I fear. You will recognise in this name _Page_, the painter of Robert's portraitwhich you praised for its Venetian colour, and criticised in otherrespects. In fact, Mr. Page believes that he has discovered Titian'ssecret--and, what is more, he will tell it to you in love, and indeed toanybody else in charity. So I don't say that to bribe you. Dear, dear Mr. Ruskin, we thank you and love you more than ever for yourgood word about our Italy. Oh, if you knew how hard it is and has beento receive the low, selfish, ignoble words with which this great causehas been pelted from England, not from her Derby government only, butfrom her parliament, her statesmen, her reformers, her leaders of theLiberal party, her free press--to receive such words full in our faces, nay, in the quick of our hearts, till we grow sick with loathing and hotwith indignation--if you knew what it was and is, you would feel howglad and grateful we must be to have a right word from John Ruskin. DearMr. Ruskin, England has done terribly ill, ignobly ill, which is worse. That men of all parties should have spoken as they have, proves a stateof public morals lamentable to admit. What--not even our poets withclean hands? Alfred Tennyson abetting Lord Derby? That to me was theheaviest blow of all. Meanwhile we shall have a free Italy at least, for everything goes wellhere. Massimo d' Azeglio came to see us in Rome, and he said then, 'Itis '48 with matured actors. ' Indeed, there is a wonderful unanimity, calm, and resolution everywhere in Italy. All parties are broken upinto the one great national party. The feeling of the people ismagnificent. The painful experience of ten years has borne fruit intheir souls. No more distrust, no more division, no more holding back, no more vacillation. And Louis Napoleon--well, I think he is doing mecredit--and you, dear Mr. Ruskin--for _you_, too, held him inappreciation long ago. A great man. I beseech you to believe on my word (and we have our information fromgood and reliable sources), that the 'Times' newspaper built up itspolitical ideas on the broadest foundation of _lies_. I use the bareword. You won't expel it, in the manner of the Paris Exhibition, for itsnudity--lies--not mistakes. For instance, while the very peasants hereare giving their crazie, the very labourers their day's work (once in aweek or so)--while everyone gives, and every man almost (who can go)goes--the 'Times' says that Piedmont had derived neither paul norsoldier from Tuscany. Tell me what people get by lying so? Faustus soldhimself to the Devil. Does Austria pay a higher price, I wonder? Such things I could tell you--things to moisten your eyes--to wring thatburning eloquence of yours from your lips. But Robert waits to take thisletter. Penini has adorned our terrace with two tricolour flags, theItalian tricolour and the French. May God bless you, dear friend. Speakagain for Italy. If you could see with what _eyes_ the Italian speaks ofthe 'English. ' Our love to you, Mr. And Mrs. Ruskin--if we may--becausewe must. Write to us, do. Ever affectionately yours, R. B. And E. B. B. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ Florence: [about June 1859. ] My dearest Sarianna, --There is a breath of air giving one strength tohold one's pen at this moment. How people can use swords in suchweather it's difficult to imagine. We have been melting to nothing, likethe lump of sugar in one's tea, or rather in one's lemonade, for teagrows to be an abomination before the sun. The heat, which lingeredunusually, has come in on us with a rush of flame for some days past, suggesting, however, the degree beyond itself, which is coming. We stayon at Florence because we can't bear to go where the bulletin twice aday from the war comes less directly; and certainly we shall stay tillwe can't breathe here any more. On which contingency our talk is to gosomewhere for two months. Meanwhile we stay. You can't conceive of the intense interest which is reigning here, youcan't realise it, scarcely. In Paris there is vivid interest, of course, but that is from less immediate motives, except with persons who haverelations in the army. Here it is as if each one had a personal enemy inthe street below struggling to get up to him. When we are anxious we arepale; when we are glad we have tears in our eyes. This 'unnecessary' and'inexcusable' war (as it has been called in England) represents the onlyhope of a nation agonising between death and life. You _talk_ about ourliving or dying, but _we live or die_. That's the difference between youand us. We shall live, however. The hope is rising into triumph. Nobody any morewill say that the Italians fight ill. Remember that Garibaldi has withhim simply the _volunteers_ from all parts of Italy, not the trainedtroops. He and they are heroic (as with such conviction and faith theywere sure to be), and the trained troops not less so. 'Worthy offighting side by side with the French, ' says the Emperor; while theFrench are worthy of their fame. 'The great military power' crumblesbefore them, because souls are stronger than bodies always. There is nosuch page of glory in the whole history of France. Great motives andgreat deeds. The feeling of profound gratitude to Napoleon III. , amongthis people here, is sublime from its unanimity and depth.... All this excitement has made Florence quite unlike its quiet self, inspite of the flight of many residents and nearly all travellers. Even wehave been stirred up to wander about more than our custom here. There'ssomething that forbids us to sit at home; we run in and out after thebulletins, and to hear and give opinions; and then, in the rebound, wehave been caught and sent several times to the theatre (so unusual forus) to see the great actor, Salvini, who is about to leave Florence. Wesaw him in 'Othello' and in 'Hamlet, ' and he was very great in both, Robert thought, as well as I. Only his houses pine, because, as he says, the 'true tragedies spoil the false, ' and the Italians have given up thetheatres for the cafés at this moment of crisis.... In best love, BA. * * * * * After Villafranca the immediate anxiety for news from the seat of warnaturally came to an end, and the Brownings were able to escape from theheat of Florence to Siena, where they remained about three months. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ Siena: [July-August 1859]. Dearest Sarianna, --This to certify that I am alive after all; yes, andgetting stronger, and intending to be strong before long, though thesense left to me is of a peculiar frailty of being; no very markedopinion upon my hold of life. But life will last as long as God finds ituseful for myself and others--which is enough, both for them and me. So well I was with all the advantages of Rome in me looking so well, that I was tired of hearing people say so. But, though it may soundabsurd to you, it was the blow on the _heart_ about the peace after allthat excitement and exultation, that walking on the clouds for weeks andmonths, and then the sudden stroke and fall, and the impotent rageagainst all the nations of the earth--selfish, inhuman, wicked--whoforced the hand of Napoleon, and truncated his great intentions. Manyyoung men of Florence were confined to their beds by the emotion of thenews. As for me, I was struck, couldn't sleep, talked too much, and (theintense heat rendering one more susceptible, perhaps) at last this badattack came on. Robert has been perfect to me. For more than a fortnighthe gave up all his nights' rest to me, and even now he teaches Pen. Theyare well, I thank God. We stay till the end of September. Our Italianshave behaved magnificently, steadfast, confident, never forgetting(except in the case of individuals, of course) their gratitude to Francenor their own sense of dignity. Things must end well with such a people. Few would have expected it of the Italians. I hear the French ambassadorwas present at the opening of the Chambers the other day at Florence, which was highly significant. I suppose you are by the sea, and I hope you and the dearest nonno arereceiving as much good from air and water as you desired. May God blessyou both. Your ever affectionate Sister, BA. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ Villa Alberti, Siena: Wednesday [July-August 1859]. My ever dearest, kindest Isa, --I can't let another day go withoutwriting just a word to you to say that I am alive enough to love you. Infact, dear, I am a great deal better; no longer ground to dust withcough; able to sleep at nights; and preparing to-day to venture on alittle minced chicken, which I have resisted all the advances ofhitherto. This proves my own opinion of myself, at least. I am extremelyweak, reeling when I ought to walk, and glad of an arm to steer by. Butthe attack is over; the blister to the side, tell Dr. Gresonowsky, conquered the uneasiness there, and did me general good, I think. Now Ihave only to keep still and quiet, and do nothing useful, or thecontrary, if possible, and not speak, and not vex myself more than isnecessary on politics. I had a letter from Jessie Mario, dated Bologna, the other day, and feel a little uneasy at what she may be about there. It was a letter not written in very good taste, blowing the trumpetagainst all Napoleonists. Most absurd for the rest. Cavour had promisedL. N. Tuscany for his cousin as the price of his intervention in Italy;and Prince Napoleon, finding on his arrival here that it 'wouldn't do, 'the peace was made in a huff. Absurd, certainly. Robert advises me not to answer, and it may be as well, perhaps. I dreamed lately that I followed a mystic woman down a long suite ofpalatial rooms. She was in white, with a white mask, on her head thelikeness of a crown. I knew she was Italy, but I couldn't see throughthe mask. All through my illness political dreams have repeatedthemselves, in inscrutable articles of peace and eternal provisionalgovernments. Walking on the mountains of the moon, hand in hand with aDream more beautiful than them all, then falling suddenly on the hardearth-ground on one's head, no wonder that one should suffer. Oh, Isa, the tears are even now in my eyes to think of it! And yet I have hope, and the more I consider, the more I hope. There will be no intervention to interfere with us in Tuscany, and thereis something _better behind_, which we none of us see yet. We read to-day of the Florence elections. May God bless my Florence! Dearest Isa, don't you fancy that you will get off with a day and nighthere. No, indeed. Also, I would rather you waited till I could talk, andgo out, and enjoy you properly; and just now I am a mere rag of a Bahung on a chair to be out of the way. Robert is so very kind as to hear Pen's lessons, which keeps me easyabout the child. Heat we have had and have; but there's a great quantity of air--suchblowings as you boast of at your villa--and I like this good open airand the quiet. I have seen nobody yet.... Dearest Isa, I miss you, and love you. How perfect you are to me always. Robert's true love, with Pen's. And I may send my love to Miss Field, may I not? Yours, in tender affection, BA. Do write, and tell me everything. Yes, England will do a little dabbling about constitutions and the likewhere there's nothing to lose or risk; and why does Mrs. Trollope say'God bless them' for it? _I_ never will forgive England the mostdamnable part she has taken on Italian affairs, never. The pitiful cryof 'invasion' is the continuation of that hound's cry, observe. Must welive and bear? * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ Villa Alberti, Siena: August 24, 1859 [postmark]. Dearest Fanny, --This is only to say that I wrote to you before yourletter reached me, directing mine simply to the post-office of Cologne, and that I write now lest what went before should miss for want of themore specific address. Thank you, dear friend, for caring to hear of myhealth; _that_, at least, _is_ pleasant. I keep recovering strength byair, quiet, and asses' milk, and by hope for Italy, which consolidatesitself more and more. You will wonder at me, but these public affairs have half killed me. Youknow I _can't_ take things quietly. Your complaint and mine, Fanny, arejust opposite. For weeks and weeks, in my feverish state, I never closedmy eyes without suffering 'punishment' under eternal articles of peaceand unending lists of provisional governments. Do you wonder? Observe--I believe entirely in the Emperor. He did at Villafranca whathe could not help but do. Since then, he has simply changed the arena ofthe struggle; he is walking under the earth instead of on the earth, but_straight_ and to unchanged ends. This country, meanwhile, is conducting itself nobly. It is worthy ofbecoming a great nation. And God for us all! So you go to England really? Which I doubted, till your letter came. It is well that you did not spend the summer here, for the heat has beenferocious; hotter, people from Corfu say, than it was ever felt there. Italy, however, is apt to be hottish in the summer, as we know verywell. The country about here, though not romantic like Lucca, is very pretty, and our windows command sunsets and night winds. I have not stirred outyet after three weeks of it; you may suppose how reduced I must be. Icould scarcely _stand_ at one time. The active evil, however, is ended, and strength comes somehow or other. Robert has had the perfect goodnessnot only to nurse me, but to teach Peni, who is good too, and rides apony just the colour of his curls, to his pure delight. Then we havebooks and newspapers, English and Italian--the books from Florence--sowe do beautifully. Mr. Landor is here. There's a long story. Absolute revolution andabdication from the Florence villa. He appeared one day at our door ofCasa Guidi, with an oath on his soul never to go back. The end of it allis, that Robert has accepted office as Landor's guardian (!!) and is to'see to him' at the request of his family in England; and there's to bean arrangement for Wilson to undertake him in a Florence apartment, which she is pleased at. He visited the Storys, who are in a villa here(the only inhabitants), and were very kind to him. Now he is in rooms ina house not far from us, waiting till we return to Florence. I have seenhim only once, and then he looked better than he did in Florence, wherehe seemed dropping into the grave, scarcely able to walk a hundredyards. He longs for England, but his friends do not encourage hisreturn, and so the best that can be done for him must be. Now he is inimproved spirits and has taken to writing Latin alcaics on Garibaldi, which is refreshing, I suppose. Ask at the post-office for my letter, but don't fancy that it may be aline more lively than this. No alcaics from me! One soul has gone fromme, at least, the soul that writes letters. May God bless you, dearest, kindest Fanny. Love me a little. Don't leaveoff feeling 'on private affairs' too much for _that_. Robert's best love with that of your lovingBA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ Villa Alberti, Siena: August 26 [1859]. Dearest friend, what have you thought of me? I was no more likely to write to you about the 'peace' than about anystroke of personal calamity. The peace fell like a bomb on us all, andfor my part, you may still find somewhere on the ground splinters of myheart, if you look hard. But by the time your letter reached me we hadrecovered the blow _spiritually_, had understood that it was necessary, and that the Emperor Napoleon, though forced to abandon one arena, wasprepared to carry on the struggle for Italy on another. Therefore I should have answered your letter at once if I had not beenseized with illness. Indeed, my dear, dear friend, you will hear from meno excuses. I have not been unkind, simply incapable. I believe it was the violent mental agitation, the reaction from a stateof exultation and joy in which I had been walking among the stars somany months; and the grief, anxiety, the struggle, the talking, allcoming on me at a moment when the ferocious heat had made the bodypeculiarly susceptible; but one afternoon I went down to the Trollopes, had sight of the famous Ducal orders about bombarding Florence, and camehome to be ill. Violent palpitations and cough; in fact, the worstattack on the chest I ever had in Italy. For two days and two nights itwas more like _angina pectoris_, as I have heard it described; but thiswent off, and the complaint ran into its ancient pattern, thank God, andkept me _only_ very ill, with violent cough all night long; my poorRobert, who nursed me like an angel, prevented from sleeping for fullthree weeks. When there was a possibility I was lifted into a carriageand brought here; stayed two days at the inn in Siena, and then removedto this pleasant airy villa. Very ill I was after coming, and greatcourage it required to come; but change of air was absolutely acondition of living, and the event justified the risk. For now I amquite myself, have done crying 'Wolf, ' and end this lamentable historyby desiring you to absolve me for my silence. We have been here nearly amonth. My strength, which was so exhausted that I could scarcely standunsupported, is coming back satisfactorily, and the cough has ceased tovex me at all. Still, I am not equal to driving out. I hope to take myfirst drive in a very few days though, and the very asses areministering to me--in milk. All the English physicians had found itconvenient (the beloved Grand Duke being absent) to leave Florence, andZanetti was attending the Piedmontese hospitals, so that I had to attendme none of the old oracles--only a Prussian physician (Dr. Gresonowsky), a very intelligent man, of whom we knew a little personally, and who hada strong political sympathy with me. (He and I used to sit together onIsa Blagden's terrace and relieve ourselves by abusing each other'scountry; and whether he expressed most moral indignation against Englandor I against Prussia, remained doubtful. ) Afterwards he came to cure me, and was as generous in his profession as became his politics. People areusually very kind to us, I must say. Think of that man following us toSiena, uninvited, and attending me at the hotel two days, then refusingrecompense. Well, now let me speak of our Italy and the peace. 'Immoral, ' you say?Yes, immoral. But not immoral on the part of Napoleon who had his handforced; only immoral on the part of those who by infamies of speech andintrigue (in England and Germany), against which I for one had beenprotesting for months, brought about the complicated results whichforced his hand. Never was a greater or more disinterested deed intendedand almost completed than this French intervention for Italianindependence; and never was a baser and more hideous sight than theleague against it of the nations. Let me not speak. For the rest, if it were not for Venetia (Zurich[65] keeps its secretsso far) the peace would have proved a benefit rather than otherwise. Wehave had time to feel our own strength, to stand on our own feet. Thevain talk about Napoleon's intervening militarily on behalf of the GrandDuke has simply been the consequence of statements without foundationin the English and German papers; and also in some French Ultramontanepapers. Napoleon with his own lips, _after the peace_, assured ourdelegates that no force should be used. And he has repeated this onevery possible occasion. At Villafranca, when the Emperor of Austriainsisted on the return of the Dukes, he acceded, on condition they wererecalled. He 'did not come to Italy to dispossess the sovereigns, ' as hehad previously observed, but to give the power of election to thepeople. Before we left Rome this spring he had said to the Frenchambassador, 'If the Tuscans like to recall their Grand Duke, _qu'est-ceque cela me fait_?' He simply said the same at Villafranca. Count de Reiset was sent to Florence, Modena, and Parma, to'_constater_, ' not to '_impose_, ' and the whole policy of Napoleon hasbeen to draw out a calm and full expression of the popular mind. Noblyhave the people of Italy responded. Surely there is not in history agrander attitude than this assumed by a nation half born, halfconstituted, scarcely named yet, but already capable of self-restraintand dignity, and magnanimous faith. We are full of hope, and should beradiant with joy, except for Venetia. Dearest friend, the war did more than 'give a province to Piedmont. ' Thefirst French charge _freed Italy potentially_ from north to south. Atthis moment Austria cannot stir anywhere. Here 'we live, breathe, andhave our national being. ' Certainly, if Napoleon did what the 'Times'has declared he would do--intervene with armed force against the people, prevent the elections, or _tamper_ with the elections by means of--suchmeans as he was 'familiar' with; if he did these things, I should cryaloud, 'Immoral, vile, a traitor!' But the facts deny all theseimputations. He has walked steadily on along one path, and thedevelopment of Italy as a nation is at the end of it. Of course the first emotion on the subject of the peace was rage aswell as grief. For one day in Florence all his portraits and bustsdisappeared from the shop windows; and I myself, to Penini's extremedisgust (who insisted on it that his dear Napoleon couldn't do anythingwrong, and that the fault was in the telegraph), wouldn't let him wearhis Napoleon medal. Afterwards--as Ferdinando said--'Siamo stati un po'troppo furiosi davvero, signora;' _that_ came to be the generalconviction. Out came the portraits again in the sun, and the Emperor'sbust, side by side with Victor Emanuel's, adorns the room of our'General Assembly. ' There are individuals, of course, who think thatthrough whatever amount of difficulty and complication, he should havepreserved his first programme. But these are not the wiser thinkers. Hehad to judge for France as well as for Italy. As Mr. Trollope said to mein almost the first fever, 'It is upon the cards that he has acted inthe wisest and most conscientious manner possible for all, --or it is onthe cards etc. ' The difficulty now is at Naples. There will be a Congress, of course. A Congress was in the firstprogramme; after the war, a Congress. But, dearest Mona Nina, if you want to get calumniated, hated, liedupon, and spat upon (in a spiritual sense), try and do a good deed fromdisinterested motives in this world. That's my lesson. I have been told upon rather good authority that Cavour's retirement issimply a feint, and that he will recover his position presently. What weighs on my heart is Venetia. Can they do anything at Zurich tomodify that heavy fact? You see I am not dead yet, dear, dearest friend. And while alive at all, I can't help being in earnest on these questions. I am a Ba, you know. Forgive me when I get too much 'riled' by your England. You will know by this time that the 'proposition' you approved of wasFrench. What made the very help of Prussia unacceptable to Austria was thecircumstance of Prussia's using that opportunity of Austria's need towriggle herself to the military headship of the Confederation. Austriawould rather have lost Lombardy (and more) than have accepted such adisadvantage. Hence the coldness, the cause of which is scarcelyavowable. Selfish and pitiful nations! Dear Isa Blagden writes me all the political news of Florence. She iswell, and will come to pay us a visit before long. We remain here tillSeptember ends, and then return to Casa Guidi. I had a letter from Bologna from Jessie, which threw me into a terrorlest the Mazzinians should come to Italy just in time to ruin us. Theletter (not unkind to me) was as contrary to facts and reason aspossible. I was too ill to write at the time, and Robert would not letme answer it afterwards. [_The remainder of this letter is missing. _] * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ Villa Alberti, Siena: September [1859]. My dearest Mrs. Martin, --As you talk of palpitations and the newspapers, and then tell me or imply that you are confined for light and air to the'Times' on the Italian question, I am moved with sympathy and compassionfor you, and anxious not to lose a post in answering your letter. Mydear, dear friends, I beseech you to believe _nothing_ which you haveread, are reading, or are likely to read in the 'Times' newspaper, unless it contradicts all that went before. The criminal conduct of thatpaper from first to last, and the immense amount of injury it hasoccasioned in the world, make me feel that the hanging of the Smethurstsand Ellen Butlers would be irredeemable cruelty while these writers areprotected by the Law.... Of course you must feel perplexed. The paper takes up different sets offalsities, quite different and contradictory, and treats them as facts, and writes 'leaders' on them, as if they were facts. The reader, atlast, falls into a state of confusion, and sees nothing clearly exceptthat somehow or other, for something that he has done or hasn't done, has intended or hasn't intended, Louis Napoleon is a rascal, and weought to hate him and his. Well, leave the 'Times'--though from the 'Times' and the like base humanmovements in England and Germany resulted, more or less directly, thatpeace of Villafranca which threw us all here into so deep an anguish, that I, for one, have scarcely recovered from it even to this day. Let me tell you. We were living in a glow of triumph and gratitude; andfor me, it seemed to me as if I walked among the angels of a new-createdworld. All faces at Florence shone with one thought and one love. Youcan scarcely realise to yourself what it was at that time. Friends weremore than friends, and strangers were friends. The rapture of theItalians--their gratitude to the French, the simple joy with which theFrench troops understood (down to the privates) that they had come todeliver their brothers, and to go away with empty hands; all thesethings, which have been calumniated and denied, were wonderfullybeautiful. Scarcely ever in my life was I so happy. I was happy, notonly for Italy, but for the world--because I thought that this greatdeed would beat under its feet all enmities, and lift up England itself(at last) above its selfish and base policy. Then, on a sudden, came thepeace. It was as if a thunderbolt fell. For one day, every picture andbust of the Emperor vanished, and the men who would have died for him, before that sun, half articulated a curse on his head. But the next daywe were no longer mad, and as the days past, we took up hope again, andthe more thoughtful among our politicians began to understand thesituation. There was, however, a painful change. Before, difference ofopinion was unknown, and there was no sort of anxiety (a doubt of theresult of the war never crossing anyone's mind). Napoleon in thethickest of the fire, with one epaulette shot off, was a symbolintelligible to the whole population. But when he disappeared from thefield and entered the region of spirits and diplomats--when he walkedunder the earth instead of on the surface--though he walked with equalloyalty and uprightness, then people were sanguine or fearful accordingto their temperament, and the English and Austrian newspapers, attributing the worst motives and designs, troubled the thoughts ofmany. Still, both the masses (with their blind noble faith), and theleaders with their intelligence, held fast their hopes, and theconsequence has been the magnificent spectacle which this nation nowoffers to Europe, and which for dignity, calm, and unanimousdetermination may seek in vain for its parallel in history. Now we arevery happy again, full of hope and faith.... We shall probably go to Rome again for the winter, as Florence isconsidered too cold. There will be disturbances that way in allprobability; but we are bold as to such things. The Pope is hard tomanage, even for the Emperor. It is hard to cut up a feather bed intosandwiches with the finest Damascus blade, but the end will be attainedsomehow. I wish I could see clearly about Venetia. There are intelligentand thoughtful Italians who are hopeful even for Venetia, and certainly, the Emperor of Austria's offer to Tuscany (not made to the Assembly, asthe 'Times' said, but murmured about by certain agents) implies aconsciousness on his part of holding Venetia, with a broken _wrist_ atleast. As to the Duchies never for a moment did I believe in armedintervention. Napoleon distinctly with his own lips promised ourdelegates, after the peace, and before he left Italy, that he wouldneither do it nor permit it. And afterwards, in Paris, again and again. He accepted the Austrian proposition under the condition simply thatthe Dukes were recalled by the people, not in defiance of the popularwill. He has been loyal throughout both to Austria and to Italy, and tohis own original programme, which did not contemplate dispossessingsovereigns but freeing peoples. Italy for the Italians--and so it will be. For Prince Napoleon, when hewas in Florence he might have remained there and delighted everybody. I_know_ even that a person high in office felt the way towards a proposalof the kind, and that he answered in a manner considered too'_tranchant_, ' 'No, no, _that_ would suit neither the Emperor norEngland; et pour moi, je ne le voudrais pas. ' He used every opportunityat that time of advising the fusion, about which people were much lessunanimous than they are now. But calumny never dies (_like me_!). Mr. Russell, Lord John's nephew, the quasi-minister at Rome, very acute, and liberal too (by the Englishstandard) being on his road to Rome from London last week proposedpaying us a visit, and we had him here two days (in a valuable spareroom!). He told me that Napoleon had been too _fin_ for the EnglishGovernment. He had _induced them to acknowledge the Tuscanvote_--(observe that fact, dearest friends) induced them to acknowledgethe Tuscan vote; and now here was his game. He had forbidden Piedmont toaccept the fusion, [66] and therefore Piedmont must refuse. Theconsequence of which would be that there must be another vote inTuscany, which would favor Prince Napoleon, and that we, having acceptedthe first vote, must accept the second, the Emperor throwing up hishands and crying, '_Who would have thought it?_' We told him that he and the English Government were so far out in theirconclusions, that Piedmont, instead of refusing, would acceptconditionally; but he sighed, 'hoped it might be so, ' in the way inwhich preposterous opinions are civilly put away. Scarcely was he gone, when the conditional acceptance was known. How much more I could tell you. But one can't write all. The firstbattle in the north of Italy freed Italy _potentially_ from north tosouth. Our political life here in the centre is a proof of this. Theconduct of the Italians is admirable, but last year they _could not_have assumed this attitude. They were a bound people. And even now, ifthe Emperor removed his hand from Austria, we should have the foreignintervention, and no hope. We are ready and willing to fight, observe. The 'Times' may take backits words. But to oppose the whole Austrian Empire with our unorganised, however heroic, forces, is impossible. We might _die_, indeed.... May God bless both of you always! I have pretty good letters from home. Home! what's home? Your ever affectionate and gratefulBA. Read 'La Foi des Traités'; it is from the hand of Louis Napoleon. Sothat I was prepared for the amnesty and for what follows. * * * * * The following letters to Mr. Chorley relate to Mrs. Browning's poem 'ATale of Villafranca, ' which was published in the 'Athenæum' forSeptember 24, and subsequently included in the volume of 'Poems beforeCongress' (_Poetical Works_, iv. 195). * * * * * _To Mr. Chorley_ Villa Alberti, Siena: September 12, [1859]. My dear Mr. Chorley, --This isn't a _letter_, as you will see at aglance. I should have written to you long since, and have also sent thispoem (which solicits a place in the 'Athenæum') if I had not been veryill and been very slow in getting well. We wanted to answer your kindletter, and shall. As for my poem, be so good as to see it put in, inspite of its good and true politics, which you 'Athenæum' people (beingEnglish) will dissent from altogether. Say so, if you please, but let mein. 'Strike, but hear me. ' I have been living and dying for Italylately. You don't know how vivid these things are to us, which serve forconversation at London dinner parties. Ah--dear Mr. Chorley. The bad news about poor Lady Arnould will haveaffected you as it did Robert a few days ago. I do pity so our unhappyfriend, Sir Joseph. Tell us, if you can and will, what you hear. We came here from Florence five or six weeks since, when I was veryunfit for moving, but change of air and a cooler air and repose hadgrown necessary. We are at a villa two miles from Siena, where we lookat scarlet sunsets, over purple hills, and have the wind nearly all day. Mr. And Mrs. Story are half a mile off in another villa, and Mr. Landorat a stone's cast. Otherwise the solitude is absolute. Mr. Russell spenttwo days with us on his way to resume office at Rome. I should rememberthat.... * * * * * _To Mr. Chorley_ Siena: Sunday [September-October 1859]. Thank you, my dear Mr. Chorley, I submit gratefully to being snubbed formy politics. In return I will send to your private ear an additionalstanza which should interpose as the real _seventh_ but was left out. Idid not send it to you the day after my note, though sorely tempted todo so, because it seemed to me likely to annul any small chance of'Athenæum' tolerance which might fall to me. Would it have done so, doyou think? 'A great deed in this world of ours! Unheard of the pretence is. It plainly threatens the Great Powers; Is fatal in all senses. A just deed in the world! Call out The rifles! ... Be not slack about The National Defences. ' Certainly if I don't guess 'the Sphinx' right, some of your Englishguessers in the 'Times' and elsewhere fail also, as events prove. Theclever 'Prince-Napoleon-for-Central-Italy' guess, [67] for instance, hasjust fallen through, by declaration of the 'Moniteur. ' Most absurd itwas always. At one time the Prince might have taken the crown byacclamation. He was almost _rude_ about it when he was in Tuscany. Andeven after the peace, members of the present Government were not averse, were much the contrary indeed. At that time the autonomy was still dear, we had not made up our minds to the fusion. Now, _è altra cosa_, and toimagine that a man like the French Emperor would have waited till now, producing, by the opportunities he has given, the present complication, _in order_ to impose the Prince, is absurd on the very face of it. While standers-by guess, the comfort is that circumstances ripen. We arein spirits about our Italy. The dignity, the constancy, the calm, areadmirable, as the unanimity of the people is wonderful. Even thecontadini have rallied to the Government, and the cry of enthusiasm towhich the cross of Savoy was uncovered in the market place of Sienayesterday was a thrilling thing. Also we will fight, be it understood, whenever fighting shall be necessary. At present, the right arm ofAustria is broken; she cannot hold the sword since Solferino, at leastin central Italy. Let those who doubt our debt to France remember wherewe were last year, and see what our political life is now--real, vivid, unhindered! Our moral qualities are our own, but our practicalopportunities come from another; we could not have made them by force ofmoral qualities, great as those are allowed to be. And how striking thegrowth of this people since 1848. Massimo d' Azeglio said to Robert andme, 'It is '48 over again with matured actors. ' But it is even more thanthat: it is '48 over again with regenerated actors. All internaljealousies at an end, all suspicions quenched, all selfish policiesdissolved. Florence forgets herself for Italy. This is grand. Would thatEngland, that pattern of moral nations, would forget herself for thesake of something or someone beyond. _That_ would be grand. I wish you were here, my dear Mr. Chorley, since I am wishing in vain, though we are almost at the close of our stay in this pretty country. Wehave a villa with beautiful sights from all the windows; and there, onthe hill opposite, live Mr. And Mrs. Story, and within a stone's throw, in a villino, lives the poor old lion Landor, who, being sorely buffetedby his family at Fiesole, far beyond 'kissing with tears' (though Robertdid what he could), took refuge with us at Casa Guidi one day, broken-hearted and in wrath. He stays here while we stay, and then goeswith us to Florence, where Robert has received the authorisation of hisEnglish friends to settle him in comfort in an apartment of his own, with my late maid, Wilson (who married our Italian man-servant), to takecare of him; and meanwhile the quiet of this place has so restored hishealth and peace of mind that he is able to write awful Latin alcaics, to say nothing of hexameters and pentameters, on the wickedness ofLouis Napoleon. Yes, dear Mr. Chorley, poems which might appear in the'Athenæum' without disclaimer, and without injury to the reputation ofthat journal. Am I not spiteful? I assure you I couldn't be spiteful a short time ago, so very ill I have been. Now it is different, and every day the strengthreturns. What remains, however, is a certain necessity of not facing theFlorence wind this winter, and of going again to Rome, in spite ofprobable revolutions there. We talk of going in the early part ofNovember. Why won't you come to Rome and give us meeting? Foolishspeech, when I know you won't. We shall be in Florence probably at theend of the present week, to stay there until the journey further southbegins. I shall regret this silence. And little Penini too will have hisregrets, for he has been very happy here, made friends with thecontadini, has helped to keep the sheep, to run after straggling cows, to play at '_nocini_' (did you ever hear of that game?) and to pick thegrapes at the vintage--driving in the grape-carts (exactly of the shapeof the Greek chariots), with the grapes heaped up round him; and thenriding on his own pony, which Robert is going to buy for him (thoughRobert never spoils him; no, not he, it is only _I_ who do that!), galloping through the lanes on this pony the colour of his curls. I waslooking over his journal (Pen keeps a journal), and fell on thefollowing memorial which I copy for you--I must. 'This is the happiest day of my hole (_sic_) life, for now dearestVittorio Emanuele is really _nostro re_. ' Pen's weak point does not lie in his politics, Mr. Chorley, but in hisspelling. When his contadini have done their day's work he takes it onhim to read aloud to them the poems of the revolutionary Venetian poetDall' Ongaro, to their great applause. Then I must tell you of hismusic. He is strong in music for ten years old--and plays a sonata ofBeethoven already (in E flat--opera 7) and the first four books ofStephen Heller; to say nothing of various pieces by modern Germancomposers in which there is need of considerable execution. Robert isthe maestro, and sits by him two hours every day, with an amount ofpatience and persistence really extraordinary. Also for two months back, since I have been thrown out of work, Robert has heard the child all hisother lessons. Isn't it very, very good of him? Do write to us and tell me how your sister is, and also how you are inspirits and towards the things of the world? Give her my love--will you? I had a letter some time ago from poor Jessie Mario, from Bologna. Respect her. She hindered her husband from fighting with Garibaldi forhis country, because Garibaldi fought under L. N. , which was so highlyimproper. Her letter was not unkind to me, but altogether and insanelywrong as I considered. (Not more wrong though, and much less wicked, than the 'Times. ') I was too ill at the time to answer it, andafterwards Robert would not let me, but I should have liked to do it;it's such a comfort to a woman (and a man?) to _sfogarsi_, as we sayhere. Also, I was really uneasy at what might be doing at Bologna; so, in spite of friendship, it was a relief to me to hear of the policetaking charge of all overt possibilities in that direction. Is it really true that 'Adam Bede' is the work of Miss Evans? The woman(as I have heard of her) and the author (as I read her) do not holdtogether. May God bless you, my dear friend! Robert shall say so forhimself. Ever affectionately yours, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. My dear Mr. Chorley, --Reading over what I have written I find that Ihave been so basely ungrateful as not to say the thing I would when Iwould thank you. Your _Dedication_ will be accepted with a true sense ofkindness and honor together; I shall be proud and thankful. But perhapsyou have changed your mind in the course of this long silence. And now where's room for Robert? * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ Villa Alberti, [Siena]:Tuesday [September-October, 1859]. Ever dearest Isa, --Yes, I am delighted. Evviva il nostro re! It isn't a very distinct acceptance, however, butas distinct as could be expected reasonably. [68] Under conditions, ofcourse. On Friday morning before noon up to our door came Mr. Russell'scarriage. He had closed with Robert's proposition at once, and we maderoom for him without much difficulty, and were very glad to see him. Ididn't go in to dinner, and he and Robert went to the Storys in theevening--so that it wasn't too much for me--and then I really likehim--he is refined and amiable, and acute and liberal (as an Englishmancan be), full of 'traditions' or prejudices, to use the right word. Tomy surprise he _knew_ scarcely anything; and, as I modestly observed toRobert, 'didn't understand the Italian question half as well as Iunderstand it. ' Of course there was a quantity of gossip in theanti-Napoleon sense; how the Emperor told the King of the peace over thesoup, twirling his moustache; and how the King swore like a trooper atthe Emperor in consequence; and how the Emperor took it all verywell--didn't mind at all and how, and how--things which are manifestlyimpossible and which Robert tells me I ought not to repeat, in order notto multiply such vain tales. There is Metternich the younger (ambassadorin Paris), a personal friend of Odo Russell's, in whose bosom LouisNapoleon seems to pour the confidences of his heart about that '_coquinde Cavour_ who led him into the Italian war, ' &c. , &c. , but it simplyproves to you and me how an Austrian can lie, which we could guessbefore. My _facts_ are these: First, Ferdinando IV. [69] has an ambassador inRome, who has been received officially by the Pope (!!) ('The coolestthing that ever was'), and is paid out of the private purse of the RoyalHighness. There is another ambassador at Naples, and another atVienna--on the same terms; so let no one talk of 'Déchéance. ' Then let me tell you what Mr. Russell said to me. 'Napoleon, ' said he, 'has been too _fin_ for the English Government. He made us acknowledgethe Tuscan vote. Now he has strictly forbidden Piedmont to accept, andPiedmont must therefore refuse. The consequences of which will be thatthere must be another vote in Tuscany, by which Prince Napoleon will beelected; and we, having acknowledged the first vote, must acknowledgethe second. ' Of course I protested; disbelieved in the forbidding, and believed inthe accepting. He 'hoped it might be so'--in the civil way with whichpeople put away preposterous opinions--and left us on Saturday night atten, just too late to hear of the 'fait accompli. ' Out of all _that_, I rescue my fact that _Napoleon made the EnglishGovernment acknowledge the Tuscan vote_. Don't let Kate put any of this into American papers, because Mr. Russellwas our guest, observe, and spoke trustingly to us. He had just arrivedfrom England, and went on to Rome without further delay. The word _Venice_ makes my heart beat. Has Guiducci any grounds for hopeabout Venice? If Austria could be _bought_ off at any price! Somethinghas evidently been promised at Villafranca on the subject of Venice; andevidently the late strengthening of the hands of Piedmont will renderthe Austrian occupation on any terms more and more difficult andprecarious. I should agree with you on Prince Napoleon, if it were not that I wantthe Emperor's disinterestedness to remain in its high place. We can'tspare great men and great deeds out of the honour of the world. Thereare so few. For the rest, the Prince would have been a popular and natural choice atone time, and as far as central Italy was concerned. Also he is veryliberal in opinion, and full of ideas, I have been told. But the fusion is a wiser step _now, _ and altogether--even if we couldspare the Emperor's fame. Do you remember the obloquy he suffered forNeufchâtel? and how it came out that, if he pressed his conditions, itwas simply because he meant to fight for the independence of the State?and how at last the Swiss delegates went to Paris to offer theirgratitude for the deliverance he had attained for the people? Hisloyalty will come out clean before the eyes of his enemies now as then. We agree absolutely. And Robert does not dissent, I think. Facts beginto be conclusive to him. You are an angel, dearest Isa, with the tact of a woman of the world. This in reference to the note you sent me, and your answer. You couldnot have done better--not at all. Our kind love to Kate--and mind you give our regards to Dr. Gresonowsky. Also to Mr. Jarves--poor Mr. Jarves--how sorry I am about the pictures! Robert will write another time, he says, 'with kindest love. ' * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Siena: September-October, 1859. ] My dearest Sarianna, --We are on the verge of returning to Florence, fora short time--only to pack up, I believe, and go further south--to 'meetthe revolution, ' tell the dearest Nonno, with my love. The case is thatthough I am really convalescent and look well (Robert has even let metake to Penini a little, which is conclusive), it is considereddangerous for me to run the risk of even a Florence winter. You see Ihave been _very_ ill. The physician thought there was pressure of thelungs on the _heart_, and, under those circumstances, that I _must_avoid irritation of the lungs by any cold. Say nothing which can reachmy sisters and frighten them; and after all I care very little aboutdoctors, except that I do know myself how hard renewals of the lateattack would go with me. But I mean to take care, and use God'sopportunities of getting strong again. Also it seems to me that I havetaken a leap within these ten days, and that the strength comes back ina fuller tide. After all, it is not a cruel punishment to us to have togo to Rome again this winter, though it will be an undesirable expense, and though we did wish to keep quiet this winter, the taste for constantwanderings having passed away as much for me as for Robert. We begin tosee that by no possible means can one spend as much money to so small anend. And then we don't work so well--don't live to as much use, eitherfor ourselves or others. Isa Blagden bids us observe that we pretend tolive at Florence, and are not there much above two months in the year, what with going away for the summer and going away for the winter. It'stoo true. It's the drawback of Italy. To live in one place here isimpossible for us almost, just as to live out of Italy at all isimpossible for us. It isn't caprice--that's all I mean to say--on ourpart. Siena pleases us very much. The silence and repose have been heavenlythings to me, and the country is very pretty, though no more thanpretty--nothing marked or romantic, no mountains (did you fancy us onthe mountains?) except so far off as to be like a cloud only, on cleardays, and no water. Pretty, dimpled ground, covered with low vineyards;purple hills, not high, with the sunsets clothing them. But I like theplace, and feel loth to return to Florence from this half-furnishedvilla and stone floors. The weather is still very hot, but no longerpast bearing, and we are enjoying it, staying on from day to day. Robertproposed Palermo instead of Rome, but I shrink a little from theprospect of our being cut up into mincemeat by patriotic Sicilians, though the English fleet (which he reminds me of) might obtain for youand for England the most 'satisfactory compensation' of the pecuniarykind. At Rome I shall not be frightened, knowing my Italians. Then therewill be more comfort, and, besides, no horrible sea-voyage. SomeAmericans have told us that the Mediterranean is twice as bad as theAtlantic. I always thought it _twice as bad as anything_, as people sayelegantly. We shall not leave Florence till November. Robert must see W. Landor (his adopted son, Sarianna) settled in his new apartment, withWilson for a duenna. It's an excellent plan for him, and not a bad onefor Wilson. He will pay a pound (English) a week for his three rooms, and she is to receive twenty-two pounds a year for the care she is totake of him, besides what is left of his rations. Forgive me if Roberthas told you this already. Dear darling Robert amuses me by talking ofhis 'gentleness and sweetness. ' A most courteous and refined gentlemanhe is, of course, and very affectionate to Robert (as he ought to be), but of self-restraint he has not a grain, and of suspiciousness manygrains. Wilson will run certain risks, and I for one would rather notmeet them. What do you say to dashing down a plate on the floor when youdon't like what's on it? And the contadini at whose house he is lodgingnow have been already accused of opening desks. Still, upon thatoccasion (though there was talk of the probability of Landor's throatbeing 'cut in his sleep'), as on other occasions, Robert succeeded insoothing him, and the poor old lion is very quiet on the whole, roaringsoftly, to beguile the time, in Latin alcaics against his wife and LouisNapoleon. He laughs carnivorously when I tell him that one of thesedays he will have to write an ode in honour of the Emperor, to please_me_. Little Pen has been in the utmost excitement lately about his pony, which Robert is actually going to buy for him. I am said to be thespoiler, but mark! I will confess to you that, considering how we run toand fro, it never would have entered into the extravagance of my love toset up a pony for Penini. When I heard of it first, I opened my eyeswide, only no amount of discretion on my part could enable me to takepart against both Pen and Robert in a matter which pleases Pen. I hopethey won't combine to give me an Austrian daughter-in-law when Peni issixteen. So I say 'Yes, ' 'Yes, ' 'Certainly, ' and the pony is to bebought, and carried to Rome (fancy that!), and we are to hunt up somesmall Italian princes and princesses to ride with him at Rome (I objectto Hatty Hosmer, who has been thrown thirty times[70]). In fact, Pen hasbeen very coaxing about the pony. He has beset Robert in private andthen, as privately, entreated me, 'if papa spoke to me about the pony, not to _discourage_ him. ' So I discouraged nobody, but am rathertriumphantly glad, upon the whole, that we have done such a veryfoolish, extravagant thing. Robert will have told you, I am sure, what a lovely picture Mr. Wilde, the American artist (staying with the Storys), has made of Penini onhorseback, and presented to me. It is to be exhibited in the spring inLondon, but before then, either at Rome or Florence, we will have aphotograph made from it to send you. By the way, Mr. Monroe failed usabout the photograph from the bust. He said he had tried in vain once, but would try again. The child is no less pretty and graceful than hewas, and he rides, as he does everything, with a grace which isstriking. He gallops like the wind, and with an absolutefearlessness--he who is timid about sleeping in a room by himself, poordarling. He has had a very happy time here (besides the pony) havingmade friends with all the contadini, who adore him, and helped them tokeep the sheep, catch the stray cows, drive the oxen in the grape-carts, and to bring in the vintage generally, besides reading and expoundingrevolutionary poems to them at evening. The worst of it was, while itlasted, that he ate so many grapes he could eat nothing else whatever. Still, he looks rosy and well, and there's nothing to regret.... Robert has let his moustache and beard grow together, and looks verypicturesque. I thought I should not like the moustache, but I do. He isin very good looks altogether, though, in spite of remonstrances, he hasgiven up walking before breakfast, and doesn't walk at any time halfenough. _I_ was in fault chiefly, because he both sate up at night withme and kept by me when I was generally ill in the mornings. So Ioughtn't to grumble--but I do.... Love to dear M. Milsand. We are inincreasing spirits on Italian affairs. Your very affectionateBA. * * * * * In October they returned to Florence, though only for about six weeks, before moving on to Rome for the winter. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ [Florence]: Casa Guidi: Friday [October 1859]. Ever dearest Mona Nina, --Here we are at our Florence, very thankful forthe advantages of our Siena residence. God has been kind. When I thinkhow I went away and how I came back, it seems to me wonderful. For thelatter fortnight the tide of life seemed fairly to set in again, and nowI am quite well, if not as strong--which, of course, could not be in thetime. My doctor opened his eyes to see me yesterday so right in looksand ways. But we spend the winter in Rome, because the great guns of therevolution (and even the small daggers) will be safer to encounter thanany sort of tramontana. To tell you the truth, dearest friend, therehave been moments when I have 'despaired of the republic'--that is, doubted much whether I should ever be quite well again; I mean astolerably well as it is my normal state to be. So severe the attack wasaltogether. As to political affairs, I will use the word of Penini's music-masterwhen asked the other day how they went on--'_Divinamente_, ' said he. Things are certainly going _divinamente_. I observe that, whilepoliticians by profession, by the way, have various opinions, and hopeand fear according to their temperaments, _the people_ here are steadilysanguine, distrusting nobody if it isn't a Mazzinian or a codino, andlooking to the end with a profound interest, of course, but not anyinquietude. '_Divinamente_' things are going on. There is an expectation, indeed, of fighting, but only with the Pope'stroops (and we all know what a '_soldato del papa_' means), or with suchmongrel defenders as can be got up by the convicts of Modena or Tuscanyto give us an occasion of triumph presently. The expected outburst inSicily and the Neapolitan States will simply extend the movement. That's_our_ way of thinking and hoping. May God defend the right! Mr. Probyn, a Liberal M. P. , has come out here to appreciate thesituation, and said last night that, after visiting the north of Italyand speaking with the chiefs, he is full of hope. Not quite so isCartwright, whom you know, and who came to us at Siena. But Mr. Cartwright exceeds Dr. Cumming in the view of Napoleon, who isn'tAntichrist to him, but is assuredly the devil. I like Mr. Cartwright, observe, but I don't like his modes of political thinking, which are'after the strictest sect' and the reddest-tape English. He and hisfamily are gone to Rome, and find the whole city 'to be hired. ' Familymen in general are not likely to go there this winter, and we shall findthe coast very clear. And _you_--dearest friend, you seem to have givenup Italy altogether this winter. Unless you come to Rome, we shall notbe the better for your crossing the Alps. The Eckleys have settled inFlorence till next year. The Perkinses also. Isa Blagden is at hervilla, which, if she lets, she may pay Miss Cushman a visit in Rometowards the spring, but scarcely earlier. After the dreary track of physical discomfort was passed, I enjoyedSiena much, and so did Robert, and the next time we have to spend asummer in Tuscany we shall certainly turn our faces that way. When ableto drive, I drove about with Robert and enjoyed the lovely country; andonce, on the last day, I ventured into the gallery and saw the divineEve of Sodoma for the second time. But I never entered thecathedral--think of that! There were steps to be mounted. But I have thevision of it safe within me since nine years ago. The Storys, let meremember to tell you gratefully, were very kind and very delicate, offering all kindnesses I could receive, and no other.... Did I tell you that Jessie Mario had written to me from Romagna? Youknow, in any case, that she and her husband were arrested subsequentlyand sent into Switzerland. The other day I had two printed letters fromthe newspaper 'Evening Star, ' enclosed to me by herself or her brother, I suppose--one the production of her husband, and one of Brofferio theadvocate. I thought both were written in a detestable spirit, attemptingto throw an odium on the governments of central Italy, which they shouldall three have rather died in their own poor personal reputations thanhave wished to hazard under present circumstances. Mazzini and his partyhave only to keep still, if _indeed_ they do _not_ desire to swamp thegreat Italian cause. Every movement made by them is a gain to Austria--aclear gain. Every word spoken by them, even if it applaud us, goesagainst the cause! Whoever has a conscience among them, let him considerthis and be still.... * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ Casa Guidi: November 2 [1859]. My dearest Fanny, --I this moment receive your letter, and hasten toanswer it lest I should be too late for you in Paris. Dear Fanny, youseem in a chronic transitional state; it's always _crisis_ with you. Ican't _advise_; but I do rather _wonder_ that you don't go at once toEngland and see your friends till you can do your business.... You canget at pictures in England and at artistic society also if you please;and making a _slancio_ into Germany or to Paris would not be impossibleto you occasionally. Does this advice sound _too_ disinterested on my part? Never think so. We only stand ourselves on one foot in Florence--forced to go away inthe summer; forced to go away in the winter. Robert was so persuadedeven last winter (before my illness) of my being better at Rome that hewould have taken an apartment there and furnished it, except that Iprevented him. Then we have calls from the north, and on most summers wemust be in England and Paris. To stay on through the summer in Florenceis impossible to us at least. Think of thermometers being a hundred andtwo in the shade this year! So I consider your case dispassionately, andconclude _we_ are not worth your consideration in reference to prospectsconnected with any place. We are rolling stones gathering no moss. There's no use for anyone to run after us; but we may roll anyone's way. I say this, penetrated by your affectionate feeling for us. May Godbless you and keep you, my dear friend. As for me, I have been nearly as ill as possible--that's thetruth--suffering so much that the idea of the evil's recurrence makes mefeel nervous. All the Italians who came near me gave me up as a lostlife; but God would not have it so this time, and my old vitality proveditself strong still. At present I am remarkably well; I had a return ofthreatening symptoms a fortnight ago, but they passed. I think I hadbeen talking too much. Now I feel quite as free and well as usual aboutthe chest, and 'buoyant' as to general spirits. Affairs in Italy seemgoing well, and Napoleon does not forget us, whatever his townsfolk of acertain class may do. The French newspapers remember us well, I am happyto see, also. But, my dear Fanny, who am I to give letters to Garibaldi?I don't know him, nor does he know _me_. Have you acquaintance withMadame Swartz? _She_ could help Mr. Spicer. But she has just gone toRome. And _we_ are going to Rome. Did not Sarianna tell you that? We goon my account to avoid the tramontana here. People say we are foolhardyon account of the state of the country; but you are aware we are no morefrightened of revolutions than M. Charles is of the tiger. Prices atRome will be more reasonable at any rate. Nobody pays high for aprobability of being massacred. What I'm most afraid of after all islest the 'Holiness of our Lord' should agree to reform at the lastmoment. It's too late; it must be too late--it ought to be too late.... Poor Mr. Landor is in perfect health and in rather good spirits, seemingreconciled to his fate of exile. In the summer he moaned over it sadly, 'never could be happy except in England'; and I rather leant to sendinghim back, I confess. But Mr. Forster and other friends seemed to thinkthat if he went back he could never be kept from the attack, all wouldcome over again; and really that was probable. Still, I feared for himbefore he went to Siena. It does not do to shake hour-glasses at hisage, and though he had been acclimated here by an eleven years'residence, still--well; there was nothing for it but to keep him here. He sighs a little still that it 'does not agree with him, ' and thatFlorence is a 'very ugly town, ' and so on; but still he is evidentlymuch stronger than when he went to Siena, can walk for an hour together(instead of failing at the end of the street), and looks quite vigorouswith his snow-white beard and moustache, through which the carnivorouslaugh runs and rings. He doesn't know yet we are going away. He willmiss Robert dreadfully. Robert's goodness to him has really beenapostolical. And think of the effect of a goodness which can quote atevery turn of a phrase something from an author's book! Isn't it morebewitching than other goodnesses? To certain authors, that is.... Dearest Fanny, keep up your spirits, _do_. Write to me to say you areless sad. And love not less your AffectionateBA. * * * * * _To Mr. Chorley_ Casa Guidi: November 25 [1859]. My dear Friend, --I thank you with all my heart for your most gracefuland touching dedication, [71] and do assure you that I feel it both ashonour and as pleasure. And yet, do you know, Robert says that you might peradventure, by thededication of your book to me, mean a covert lecture, or sarcasm, whoknows? Even if you did, the kindness of the personal address would makeup for it. Who wouldn't bear both lecture and sarcasm from anyone whobegins by speaking _so_? Therefore I am honoured and pleased andgrateful all the same--yes, and _will_ be. But, dear Mr. Chorley, you don't silence me, notwithstanding. The spellof your dedication hasn't fastened me up in an oak for ever. Your bookis very clever; your characters very incisively given; princess andpatriots admirably cut out (and up!); half truths everywhere, to whichone says 'How true!' But one might as well (and better) say 'How false!'seeing that, dear Mr. Chorley, it does really take two halves to make awhole, and we know it. The whole truth is not here--not even suggestedhere--and let me add that the half truth on this occasion is cruel. One thing is ignored in the book. Under all the ridiculousness, underall the wickedness even of such men and women, lies _a cause_, a rightinherent, a wrong committed. The cant presupposes a doctrine, and thepretension a real heroism. Your best people (in your book) seem to haveno notion of this. Your heroine deserves to be a victim, not because shewas rash and ignorant, but because she was selfish and foolish. Theworld wasn't lost for her because she loved--either a cause or aman--but because she wanted change and excitement. If she had felt onthe abstract question as I have known women to feel, even when they haveacted like fools, I should pity her more. As it is, the lesson wasnecessary. If she had not married rashly an Italian _birbante_ she wouldhave married rashly an English blackguard, and I myself see smalldifference in the kinds. With _you_, however, to your mind, it isdifferent; and in this view of yours seems to me to lie the main faultof your book. You evidently think that God made only the English. TheEnglish are a peculiar people. Their worst is better than the best ofthe exterior nations. Over the rest of the world He has cast out Hisshoe. Even supposing that a foreigner does, by extraordinary exception, some good thing, it's only in reaction from having murdered somebodylast year, or at least left his children to starve the year before. Truth, generosity, nobleness of will and mind, these things do not existbeyond the influence of the 'Times' newspaper and the 'Saturday Review. '(By the way, it would be extraordinary if it _were so_. ') Well, I have lived thirteen years on the Continent, and, far as Englandis from Italy, far as the heavens are from the earth, I dissent fromyou, dissent from you, dissent from you. I say so, and there is an end. It is relief to me, and will make noimpression on you; but for my sake you permit me to say it, I feel sure. Dear Mr. Chorley, Robert and I have had true pleasure (in spite of allthis fault-finding) in feeling ourselves close to you in your book. Volume after volume we have exchanged, talking of you, praising youhere, blaming you there, but always feeling pleasure in reading yourwords and speaking your name. Don't say it's the last novel. You, whocan do so much. Write us another at once rather, doing justice to oursublime Azeglios and acute Cavours and energetic Farinis. If I couldhear an English statesman (Conservative or Liberal) speak out of a largeheart and generous comprehension as I did Azeglio this last spring, Ishould thank God for it. I fear I never shall. My boy may, perhaps. Redtape has garrotted this political generation.... I persist in being in high hopes for my Italy. Ever affectionately yoursELIZABETH B. BROWNING. * * * * * Early in December the move to Rome took place, and they found rooms at28 Via del Tritone. During the winter Mrs. Browning was preparing forthe press her last volume, the 'Poems before Congress, ' while herhusband, in a fit of disinclination to write poetry, occupied himself bytrying his hand at sculpture. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Rome: December 1859. ] Dearest Sarianna, --Robert will have told you of the success of ourjourney, which the necessities of Mr. Landor very nearly pushed backinto the cold too late. We had even resolved that if the wind changedbefore morning we would accept it 'as a sign' and altogether give upRome. We were all but run to ground, you see. Happily it didn't end so;and here we are in a very nice sunny apartment, which would have beenfar beyond our means last year or any year except just now when thePope's obstinacy and the rumoured departure of the French have left Romea solitude and called it peace--very problematical peace. (Peni, indespair at leaving Florence, urged on us that 'for mama to have cold airin her chest would be better than to have a cannon-ball in her stomach';but she was unreasonably more afraid of one than of the other. )Apartments here for which friends of ours paid forty pounds English themonth last winter are going for fifteen or under--or rather notgoing--for nobody scarcely comes to take them. The Pope's 'reforms' seemto be limited, in spite of his alarming position, which is breaking hisheart, he told a friend of Mrs. Stowe's the other day, and out of whichhe looks to be relieved only by some special miracle (the American wasquite affected to hear the old man bewail himself!), to an edict againstcrinolines, the same being forbidden to sweep the sacred pavement of St. Peter's. This is _true_, though it sounds like a joke. Even Florence has very few English. A crisis is looked for everywhere. Prices there are rising fast; but one is prepared to pay more forliberty. Carriages are dearer than in Paris by our new tariff, which isan item important to me. We left Mr. Landor in great comfort. I went tosee his apartment before it was furnished. Rooms small, but with a lookout into a little garden; quiet and cheerful; and he doesn't mind asituation rather out of the way. He pays four pound ten (English) themonth. Wilson has _thirty_ pounds a year for taking care of him, whichsounds a good deal; but it _is_ a difficult position. He has excellent, generous, affectionate impulses, but the impulses of the tiger every nowand then. Nothing coheres in him, either in his opinions, or I fear, affections. It isn't age; he is precisely the man of his youth, I mustbelieve. Still, his genius gives him the right of gratitude on allartists at least, and I must say that my Robert has generously paid thedebt. Robert always said that he owed more as a writer to Landor than toany contemporary. At present Landor is very fond of him; but I am quiteprepared for his turning against us as he has turned against Forster, who has been so devoted for years and years. Only one isn't kind forwhat one gets by it, or there wouldn't be much kindness in this world. I keep well; and of course, at Rome there is more chance for me thanthere was in Florence; but I hated to inflict an unpopular journey, ofwhich the advantage was solely mine. Poor Peni said that if he had toleave his Florence he would rather go to Paris than to Rome. I dare sayhe would. Then his Florentines frightened him with ideas of the awfulmassacre we were to be subjected to here. The pony travelled like aglorified Houyhnhnm and we have brought a second male servant to takecare of him. It was an economy; for the wages of Rome are inordinate. Pen's tender love to his nonno and you with that of Your ever affectionate sister, BA. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ [Rome]: 28 Via Tritone: Friday [winter 1859]. My dearest Fanny, --Set me down as a wretch, but hear me. I have been illagain, in the first place; then as weak as a rag in consequence, andthen with business accumulated on impotent hands; proofs to see to, andthe like. You may have heard in the buzz of newspapers of certainpresentation _swords_, subscribed for by twenty thousand Romans, at afranc each, and presented in homage and gratitude to Napoleon III. AndVictor Emmanuel. Castellani[72] of course was the artist, and the wholebusiness had to be huddled up at the end, because of his Holinessdenouncing all such givers of gifts as traitors to the See. So just asthe swords had to be packed up and disappear, some one came with a shutcarriage to take me for a sight of these most exquisite works of art. Itwas five o'clock in the evening and raining, but not cold, so that thewhole world here agreed it couldn't hurt me. I went with Roberttherefore; we were received at Castellani's most flatteringly as poetsand lovers of Italy; were asked for autographs; and returned in a blazeof glory and satisfaction, to collapse (as far as I'm concerned) in anear approach to mortality. You see I can't catch a simple cold. All mybad symptoms came back. Suffocations, singular heart-action, coughtearing one to atoms. A gigantic blister, however, let me crawl out ofbed at the end of a week, and the advantage of a Roman climate _told_, Idare say, for the attack was less violent and much less long than theone in the summer. Only I feel myself brittle, and become aware, ofincreased susceptibility. Dr. Gresonowsky warns me against Florence inthe winter. I must be warm, they say. Well, never mind! Now I am wellagain, and I don't know why I should have whined so to you. I am well, and living on asses' milk by way of sustaining the mental calibre; yes, and able to have _tête-à-têtes_ with Theodore Parker, who believesnothing, you know, and has been writing a little Christmas book for theyoung just now, to prove how they should keep Christmas without aChrist, and a Mr. Hazard, a spiritualist, who believes everything, walksand talks with spirits, and impresses Robert with a sense of veracity, which is more remarkable. I like the man much. He holds the subject onhigh grounds, takes the idea and lives on it above the earth. For yearshe has given himself to investigation, and has seen the Impossible. Certainly enough Robert met him and conversed with him, and came back totell me what an intelligent and agreeable new American acquaintance hehad made, without knowing that he was Hazard the spiritualist, ratherfamous in his department.... Don't fall out of heart with investigation. It takes patient investigation to establish the number of legs of anewly remarked fly. Nothing _riles_ me so much as the dogmatism of thepeople who pronounce on there being nothing to see, because in half adozen experiments, perhaps, they have seen nothing conclusive. 'Yet could not all creation pierce Beyond the bottom of his eye. ' Mediums cheat certainly. So do people who are not mediums. Icongratulate you on liking anybody better. That's pleasant for _you_ atany rate. My changes are always the other way. I begin by seeing thebeautiful in most people, and then comes the disillusion. It isn'tcaprice or unsteadiness; oh no! it's merely _fate_. _My_ fate, I mean. Alas, my bubbles, my bubbles! But I'm growing too original, and will break off. My Emperor at leasthas not deceived me, and I'm going into the fire for him with a little'brochure' of political poems, which you shall take at Chapman's withthe last edition of 'Aurora' when you go to England. Thank you a hundredtimes from both Robert and me for the interesting relation of Cobden'ssayings on him. If Cobden had not rushed beyond civilisation, I shouldlike to offer him my little book. I should like it. Self-love is thegreat malady of England, and immortal would the statesman be who couldand would tear a wider horizon for the popular mind. As to the riflecry, _I_ never doubted (for one) that it had its beginning with'interested persons. ' Never was any cry more ignoble. A rescues B frombeing murdered by C, and E cries out, 'What if _A_ should murder _me_!'That's the logic of the subject. And the sentiment is worthy of thelogic. I expect to be torn to pieces by English critics for what I haveventured to write.... Write me one of your amusing letters, and take our love, especially Your ever affectionate BA'S. There is no Roman news, people are so scarce. The Storys have given aball, Italians chiefly. We think of little but politics. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ 28 Via del Tritone, Rome: December 29 [1859]. It was pleasant to have news of you, dearest friends, and to know ofyour being comfortably established at Pau this cold winter, as it seemsto be in the north. We came here, flying from the Florence tramontana, at the very close of November, on the Perugia road, after having beenweather-bound at Casa Guidi till we almost gave up our Roman plan. Mosthappily the cold spared us during our six days' journey, which was verypleasant. I like travelling by vetturino. The fatigue is small, and ifyou take a supply of books with you the time does not hang fire. We hadsome old Balzacs, which came new (he is one of our gods--heathen, youwill say) and we had, besides, Charles Reade's 'Love me Little, Love meLong, ' which is full of ability. Then Peni had his pony as a source ofinterest. The pony was fastened to the vettura horses, and came intoRome, not merely fresh, but fat. And we have fallen into pleasant placesby way of lodgings here, our friends having prepared a list to choosefrom, so that I had only to drop out of the hotel into bright sunnyrooms, which do not cost too much on account of the comparativedesertion of this holy city this year. We arrived on December 3, andhere it is nearly January 1--almost a month. The older one grows thefaster time passes. Do you observe that? You catch the wind of thewheels in your face, it seems, as you get nearer the end. I observe itstrongly. Let me say of myself first that I am particularly well, and feel muchmore sure and steady than since my illness. How are you both? I do hopeand trust you can give me good news of yourselves. Do you read aloud toone another or each alone? Robert and I do the last always. May Godbless you both in health of body and soul, and every source of happinessfor the coming and other years! I wish and pray it out of my heart.... And you are studying music? I honour you for it. Do tell me, dearestMrs. Martin, did you know nothing of music before, and have you taken upthe piano? I hold a peculiar heresy as to the use hereafter of what welearn here. When there is no longer any growth in me, I desire todie--for one. And at present I by no means desire to die. So you and others upbraid me with having put myself out of my 'naturalplace. ' What _is_ one's natural place, I wonder? For the Chinese it isthe inner side of the wall. For the red man it is the forest. Thenatural place of everybody, I believe, is within the crust of all mannerof prejudices, social, religious, literary. That is as men conceive of'natural places. ' But, in the highest sense, I ask you, how _can_ a manor a woman leave his or her natural place. Wherever God's universe isround, and God's law above, there is a natural place. Circumstances, theforce of natural things, have brought me here and kept me; it is mynatural place. And, intellectually speaking, having grown to a certainpoint by help of certain opportunities, my way of regarding the world isalso natural to me, my opinions are the natural deductions of my mind. Isn't it so? Still I do beg to say both to you and to others accusingthat Italy is not my 'adopted country. ' I love Italy, but I love France, too, and certainly I love England. Because I have broken through whatseems to me the English 'Little Pedlingtonism, ' am I to be supposed totake up an Italian 'Little Pedlingtonism'? No, indeed. I love truth andjustice, or I try to love truth and justice, more than any Plato's orShakespeare's country. [73] I certainly do not love the egotism ofEngland, nor wish to love it. I class England among the most immoralnations in respect to her foreign politics. And her 'National Defence'cry fills me with disgust. But this by no means proves that I haveadopted another country--no, indeed! In fact, patriotism in the narrowsense is a virtue which will wear out, sooner or later, everywhere. Jewand Greek must drop their antagonisms; and if Christianity is ever todevelop it will not respect frontiers. As to Italy, though I nearly broke my heart over her last summer, andlove the Italians deeply, I should feel passionately any similar crisisanywhere. You cannot judge the people or the question out of the 'Times'newspaper, whose sole policy is, it seems to me, to get up a war betweenFrance and England, though the world should perish in the struggle. Theamount of fierce untruth uttered in that paper, and sworn to by the'Saturday Review, ' makes the moral sense curdle within one. You do not_know_ this as we do, and you therefore set it down as matter ofContinental prejudice on my part. Well, time will prove. As to Italy, Ihave to put on the rein to prevent myself from hoping into the idealagain. I am on my guard against another fall from that chariot of thesun. But things look magnicently, and if I could tell you certain facts(which I can't) you would admit it. Odo Russell, the English Ministerhere (in an occult sense), who, with a very acute mind, is stronglyRussell and English, and was full of the English distrust of L. N. , whenwith us at Siena last September, came to me two days ago, and said, 'Itis plain now. The Emperor is rather Italian than French. He has worked, and is working, only for Italy; and whatever has seemed otherwise hasbeen forced from him in order to keep on terms with his colleagues, thekings and queens of Europe. Everything that comes out proves it more andmore. ' In fact, he has risked everything for the Italians except _theircause_. I am delighted, among other things, at Cavour's representationof Italy at the Congress. Antonelli and his party are in desperation, gnashing their teeth at the Tuileries. The position of the Emperor ismost difficult, but his great brain will master it. We are rather uneasyabout the English Ministry--its work in Congress; it might go out for me(falling to pieces on the pitiful Suez question or otherwise), but we dowant it at Congress. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ 28 Via del Tritone, Rome: February 22 [1860]. Dearest, naughtiest Mona Nina, --Where is the place of your soul, yourbody abiding at Brighton, that never, no, never, do I hear from you? Itseems hard. Last summer I was near to slipping out of the world, andthen, except for a rap, you might have called on me in vain (and saidrap you wouldn't have believed in). Also, even this winter, even in thisRome, the city of refuge, I have had an attack, less long and sharp, indeed, but weakening, and, though I am well now, and have corrected theproofs of a very thin and wicked 'brochure' on Italian affairs (inverse, of course), yet still I am not too strong for cod-liver oil andthe affectionateness of such friends as you (I speak as if I had a shoalof such friends--povera mi!). Write to me, therefore. Especially as theEnglish critics will worry me alive for my book and you will have tosay, 'Well done, critics!' so write before you read it, to say, 'Ba, Ilove you. ' That makes up for everything. Oh, I know you did write to mein the summer. And then I wrote to you; and then there came a _pause_, which is hard on me, I repeat. Geddie has come here, lamenting also. Besides, we have been somewhatdisappointed by your not coming to Italy. Never will you come to Rome asGeddie expects, late in the spring, to take an apartment close to her, looking charmingly on the river. I told her quite frankly that you wouldnot be so unwise. Rome is empty of foreigners this year, a few Americansstanding for all. Then, in the midst of the quiet, deeply does thepassion work: on one side, with the people, on the other in the despairand rage of the Papal Government. The Pope can't go out to breakfast, todrink chocolate and talk about 'Divine things' to the 'Christian youth, 'but he stumbles upon the term 'new ideas, ' and, falling precipitatelyinto a fury, neither evangelical nor angelical, calls Napoleon a_sicario_ (cut-throat), and Vittorio Emanuele an _assassino_. The Frenchhead of police, who was present, whispered to acquaintances of ours, 'Comme il enrage le saint père!' In fact, all dignity has beenrepeatedly forgotten in simple _rage_. Affairs of Italy generally aregoing on to the goal, and we look for the best and glorious results, perhaps _not without more fighting_. Certainly we can't leave Venetia inthe mouth of Austria by a second Villafranca. We cannot and will not. And, sooner or later, the Emperor is prepared, I think, to carry usthrough. Odo Russell told me (without my putting any question to him)that everything, as it came out, proved how true he had been toItaly--that, in fact, he had 'rather acted as an Italian than as aFrenchman. ' And Mr. Russell, while liberal, is himself very English, andfree from Buonaparte tendencies from hair to heel. We often have letters from dear Isa Blagden, who sends me the Florencenews, more shining from day to day. Central Italy seems safe. But let me tell you of my thin slice of a wicked book. Yes, I shallexpect you to read it, and I send you an order for it to Chapman, therefore. Everybody will hate me for it, and so _you must_ try hard tolove me the more to make up for that. Say it's mad, and bad, and sad;but _add_ that somebody did it who meant it, thought it, felt it, throbbed it out with heart and brain, and that she holds it for truth inconscience and not in partisanship. I want to tell you (oh, I can't helptelling you) that when the ode was read before Peni, at the partrelating to Italy his eyes overflowed, and down he threw himself on thesofa, hiding his face. The child has been very earnest about Italianpolitics. The heroine of that poem called 'The Dance'[74] was Madame diLaiatico. The 'Court Lady' is an individualisation of a general fashion, the ladies at Milan having gone to the hospitals in full dress and inopen carriages. Macmahon taking up the child[75] is also historical. Ibelieve the facts to be in the book: 'He has done it all, '[76] wereCavour's words. When you see an advertisement and have an opportunity toapply at Chapman's, do so 'by this sign' enclosed. I read of you in thepapers, stirring up the women. Write and say how you are, and where you are. [_Part of this letter is missing. _] Your ever very affectionateBA. I hope you liked the article on the immorality of luncheon-rooms in yourhigh-minded 'Saturday Review. ' FOOTNOTES: [62] Prime Minister of Piedmont from 1849-52, and one of the mosthonourable and patriotic of Italian statesmen. [63] Subsequently English ambassador at Berlin, and one of theplenipotentiaries at the Berlin Congress of 1878. Created Lord Ampthillin 1881, and died in 1884. [64] Now in the possession of Mr. R. Barrett Browning. [65] The conferences for the arrangement of the final treaty of peacewere held at Zurich. [66] Of Tuscany with Piedmont, which was voted by Tuscany in August. Modena, Parma, and Romagna did the same, and so made the critical steptowards the creation of a united Italy. [67] It was supposed that Napoleon contemplated constituting CentralItaly, or at least Tuscany, into a kingdom for his brother Jerome, andthat it was for this reason that the latter had been sent to Florencewith a French corps at the beginning of the war. [68] Napoleon being opposed to the idea of a united Italy, VictorEmmanuel did not consider it wise to accept the proffered crown ofCentral Italy while a French army was still in the country and the termsof peace were not finally settled. [69] The new Duke of Tuscany. He had succeeded to this now very shadowythrone on July 21 of this year. [70] Not on account of bad riding, be it observed, but of daring andventuresome riding. [71] Mr. Chorley had dedicated his last novel, _Roccabella_, to Mrs. Browning. [72] 'Do you see this ring? 'Tis Rome-work, made to match (By _Castellani's_ imitative craft) Etrurian circlets, ' etc. (_The Ring and the Book_, i. 1-4. ) [73] Mrs. Browning is here quoting from her own preface to _Poems beforeCongress_. [74] _Poetical Works_, iv. 190. [75] See 'Napoleon III. In Italy, ' stanza 11, _ibid. _ p. 181. Theincident occurred at Macmahon's entry into Milan, three days afterMagenta. [76] _Ibid. _ stanza 12. CHAPTER XI 1860-1861 Early in 1860 the promised booklet, 'Poems before Congress, ' waspublished in England, and met with very much the reception the authoresshad anticipated. It contained only eight poems, all but one relating tothe Italian question. Published at a time when the events to which theyalluded were still matters of current controversy, they could not but beregarded rather as pamphleteering than as poetry; and it could hardly beexpected that the ordinary Englishman, whose sympathy with Italy did notabolish his mistrust (eminently justifiable, as later revelations haveshown it to be) of Louis Napoleon, should read with equanimity thecontinual scorn of English policy and motives, or the continualexaltation of the Emperor. Looking back now over a distance of nearlyforty years, and when the Second Empire, with all its merits and itssins, has long gone to its account, we can, at least in part, put asidethe politics and enjoy the poetry. Though pieces like 'The Dance' and 'ACourt Lady' are not of much permanent value, there are many finepassages, notably in 'Napoleon III. In Italy, ' and 'Italy and theWorld, ' in which a true and noble enthusiasm is expressed in living andburning words, worthy of a poet. For attacks on her Italian politics Mrs. Browning was prepared, as theforegoing letters show; but one incident caused her real and quiteunexpected annoyance. The reviewer in the 'Athenæum' (apparently Mr. Chorley) by some unaccountable oversight took the 'Curse for a Nation'to apply to England, instead of being (as it obviously is) adenunciation of American slavery. Consequently he referred to this poemin terms of strong censure, as improper and unpatriotic on the part ofan English writer; and a protest from Mrs. Browning only elicited asomewhat grudging editorial note, in a tone which implied that theinterpretation which the reviewer had put upon the poem was one which itwould naturally bear. One can hardly be surprised at the annoyance whichthis treatment caused to Mrs. Browning, though some of the phrases inwhich she speaks of it bear signs of the excitement which characterisedso much of her thought in these years of mental strain and stress, andbodily weakness and decay. * * * * * _To Mrs. Jameson_ (Fragment) [Early in 1860. ] I remember well your kindness to it. Nothing was said then about the'fit arguments for poetry, ' and I recovered from it to write 'AuroraLeigh, ' of which, however, many people did say that it was built on anunfit argument, and besides was a very indecent, corrupting book (have Inot heard of ladies of sixty, who had 'never felt themselves pure sincereading it'?) But now, consider. Since you did not lose hope for me in'Casa Guidi Windows, ' because the line of politics was your own, whyneed you despair of me in the 'Poems before Congress, ' although I dopraise the devil in them? A mistake is not fatal to a critic? need it beto a poet? Does Napoleon's being wicked (if he is so) make Italy lessinteresting? or unfit for poetry historical subjects like 'The Dance' orthe 'Court Lady'? Meanwhile that thin-skinned people the Americansexceed some of you in generosity, rendering thanks to reprovers of theirill deeds, and understanding the pure love of the motive. [77] Let metell you rather for their sake than mine. I have extravagant praises and_prices_ offered to me from 'over the western sun, ' in consequence ofthese very 'Poems before Congress. ' The nation is generous in thesethings and not 'thin-skinned. ' As to England, I shall be forgiven in time. The first part of a campaignand the first part of a discussion are the least favourable to Englishsuccesses. After a while (by the time you have learnt to shoot cats withthe new rifles), you will put them away, and arrive at the happy secondthought which corrects the first thought. That second thought will notbe of _invasion_, prophesies a headless prophet. 'Time was when headswere off a man would die. ' A man--yes. But a woman! _We_ die hard, youknow. Here, an end. I hope you will write to me some day, and ease me byproving to me that I have ceased to be bitter to the palate of yoursoul. Believe this--that, rather than be a serious sadness to you, Iwould gladly sit on in the pillory under the aggressive mud of that mobof 'Saturday Reviewers, ' who take their mud and their morals from thesame place, and use voices hoarse with hooting down un-Englishpoetesses, to cheer on the English champion, Tom Sayers. For me, Ineither wish for the 'belt'[78] nor martyrdom; but if I were ambitiousof anything, it might be to be wronged where, for instance, Cavour iswronged. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ [Rome], Friday [end of March 1860]. My ever dearest Isa, I am scarcely in heart yet for writing letters, anddid not mean to write to-day. You heard of the unexpected event whichbrought me the loss of a very dear friend, dear, dear Mrs. Jameson. [79]It was, of course, a shock to me, as such things are meant to be.... And now I come to what makes me tax you with a dull letter, I feeling sodully; and, dear, it is with dismay I have to tell you that the letteryou addressed under cover to Mr. Russell has _never reached us_. Tillyour last communication (this moment received), I had hoped that thecontents of it might have been less important than O. -papers must be. What is to be done, or thought? I beseech you to write and tell me if_harm_ is likely to follow from this seizure. The other inclosure cameto me quite safely, because it came by the Government messenger. I thinkyou sent it through Corbet. But Mr. Russell's _post_ letters are asliable to opening as mine are; his name is no security. Whenever yousend a 'Nazione' newspaper through him, it never reaches us, though wereceive our 'Monitore' through him regularly. Why? Because in hisposition he is allowed to have newspapers for his own use. He takes infor himself no 'Monitore, ' so ours goes to his account, but he does takein a 'Nazione, ' therefore ours is seized, as being plainly for otherhands than his own licensed ones. I am very much grieved about this loss of your letter and its contents. First, there's my fear lest harm should come of this, and then there'smy own personal _mulcting_ of what would have been of such deep interestto me. I am 'revelling'? See how little. Robert wrote in a playful vein to Kate, and you must not and will notcare for that. He had understood from your letter that you and themajority had all, like the 'Athenæum, ' understood the 'Curse for aNation' to be directed against England. Robert was _furious_ about the'Athenæum'; no other word describes him, and I thought that both I andMr. Chorley would perish together, seeing that even the accusation (sucha one!) made me infamous, it seemed. The curious thing is, that it was at Robert's suggestion that thatparticular poem was reprinted there (it never had appeared in England), though 'Barkis was willing'; I had no manner of objection. I never haveto justice. Mr. Chorley's review is objectionable to me because unjust. A reviewershould read the book he gives judgment on, and he could not have readfrom beginning to end the particular poem in question, and haveexpounded its significance so. I wrote a letter on the subject to the'Athenæum' to correct this mis-statement, which I cared for chiefly onRobert's account. In fact, _I_ cursed neither England nor America. I leave such things toour Holy Father here; the poem only pointed out how the curse wasinvolved in the action of slave-holding. I never saw Robert so enraged about a criticism. He is better now, letme add. In the matter of Savoy, [80] it has vexed and vexes me, I do confess toyou. It's a handle given to various kinds of dirty hands, it spoils thebeauty and glory of much, the uncontested admiration of which would havedone good to the world. At the same time, as long as Piedmont and Savoyagree in the annexation to France, there is nothing to object to--not toobject to with a reasonable mind. And it seems to be understood (it isstated in fact), that the cession is under condition of the assent ofthe populations. The Vote is necessary to the honour of France. I do notdoubt that it will be consulted. Meantime there is too much haste, Ithink. There is a haste somewhat indelicate in the introduction ofFrench garrisons into Savoy, previous to the popular conclusion beingknown. There should have been mixed garrisons, French and Piedmontese, till the vote was taken. Napoleon should have been more particular inSavoy than he was even in central Italy, as to the advance of anyoccasion of the current charge of 'pressure. ' Altogether the subject is an anxious one--would be, even if lessrancorous violence on the part of his enemies were wreaked upon it. TheEnglish Tories are using it with the frenzy of despair, and no wonder! Lamoricière's arrival is another proof of the internal coalition againstthe Empire. Now I must end, Robert says, or I shall lose the post. My true bestlove, and Robert's--and Peni's. Write to me, do, dearest Isa, and tell me if the MSS. Sent were_nuisibles_. The Excommunication just out is said to include theEmperor. Your ever lovingBA. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Rome: about March 1860. ] Dearest Sarianna, --It is impossible to have a regret for dear LadyElgin. She has been imprisoned here under double chains too long. To beout of the dark and the restraint is a blessing to that spirit, and mustbe felt so by all who love her. Of course I shall write to Lady AugustaBruce.... No, I don't think there is much to be forgiven by my countrymen in mybook. What I reproach them for, none of them deny. They certainly tookno part in the war, nor will they if there is more war, and certainlythe existence of the rifle clubs is a fact. Robert and I began to write on the Italian question together, and ourplan was (Robert's own suggestion!) to publish jointly. When I showedhim my ode on Napoleon he observed that I was gentle to England incomparison to what he had been, but after Villafranca (the PalmerstonMinistry having come in) he destroyed his poem and left me alone, and Idetermined to stand alone. What Robert had written no longer suited themoment; but the poetical devil in me burnt on for an utterance. I havespoken nothing but historical truths, as far as the outline isconcerned. But the spirit of the whole, is, of course, opposed to thenational feeling, or I should not in my preface suppose it to beoffended. With every deference to you, dearest Sarianna, I cannot think that youwho live, as the English usually do, quite aside and apart from Frenchsociety, can judge of the interest in France for Italy. I see Frenchletters--letters of French men and women--giving a very contraryimpression. The French newspapers give a very contrary impression. Andthe statistics of books and pamphlets published and circulated in Franceon the Italian question this year are in most prodigious disaccord withsuch a conclusion. Compare them with the same statistics in England, andthen judge. Besides, the English, to do them justice, can be active and generous inany cause in which they are really interested, and it is a fact that wecould not get up a subscription in England even for Garibaldi's musketslately, while France is always giving. Not that there are not, and have not been, many English of generoussympathies towards Italy. That I well know. But it is a small, protesting minority. Lord John has done very well, as far as words cango, but it has been simply in giving effect to the intentions of France, who wanted much a respectable conservative Power like England to endorseher bill of revolution with the retrograde European Governments. I will spare what I think of the treatment in England of the Savoyquestion. We are losing all moral prestige in the eyes of the world, with our small jealousies and factional struggles for power. Ah! dear Sarianna, I don't complain for myself of an unappreciatingpublic--_I have no reason_. But, just for _that_ reason, I complainmore about Robert, only he does not hear me complain. To _you_ I maysay, that the blindness, deafness, and stupidity of the English publicto Robert are amazing. Of course Milsand had 'heard his name'! Well, thecontrary would have been strange. Robert _is_. All England can't preventhis existence, I suppose. But nobody there, except a small knot ofpre-Raffaelite men, pretends to do him justice. Mr. Forster has done thebest in the press. As a sort of lion, Robert has his range in society, and, for the rest, you should see Chapman's returns; while in Americahe's a power, a writer, a poet. He is read--he lives in the hearts ofthe people. 'Browning readings' here in Boston; 'Browning evenings'there. For the rest, the English hunt lions too, Sarianna, but theirfavourite lions are chosen among 'lords' chiefly, or 'railroad kings. ''It's worth _eating much dirt_, ' said an Englishman of high family andcharacter here, 'to get to Lady ----'s soirée. ' Americans will eat dirtto get to _us_. There's the difference. English people will come andstare at _me_ sometimes, but physicians, dentists, who serve me andrefuse their fees, artists who give me pictures, friends who give uptheir carriages and make other practical sacrifices, are _notEnglish_--no--though English Woolner was generous about a bust. Let _me_be just at least. There is a beautiful photograph of Wilde's picture of Pen on horseback, which shall go to you, the likeness better than in the picture. I can scarcely allude to the loss of my loved friend Mrs. Jameson. It'sa blot more on the world to me. Best love to you and the dear Nonno fromPen and myself. The editor of the 'Atlas' writes to thank me for thejustice and courage of my international politics. English clergymanstops at the door to say to the servant, 'he does not know me, butapplauds my sentiments. ' So there may be ten just persons who spare Your affectionate sister. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ [Rome]: Saturday [April 1860]. My dearest dear Isa, not well! That must be the first word 'by return ofpost. ' Dear, let me have a better letter, to say that you are well andbright again, and brilliant Isa as customary. And now, join me in admiration of the 'husband Browning!' Isn't he amiracle, whoever else may be? The wife Browning, not to name most otherhuman beings, would have certainly put the 'Monitore' receipt into thefire, or, at best, lost it. In fact, whisper it not in the streets ofAskelon, but _she_ had forgotten even the fact of its having been sent, and was quietly concluding that Wilson had lost it in a fog and that weshould have patiently to pay twice. Not at all. Up rises the husbandBrowning, superior to his mate, and with eyes all fire, holds up thereceipt like an heroic rifleman looking to a French invasion at the endof a hundred years. Blessed be they who keep receipts. It is a beatitudebeyond my reach. Only I do hope my Tuscan friends of the 'Monitore' are only careless andforgetful in their business habits, and that they didn't think of'annexing'--eh, Isa! No, I don't believe it was dishonesty, it mighthave so very well been oblivion. May the paper come to-day, that's all. We get the 'Galignani, ' but can'tafford to miss our Italian news. Then, not only we ourselves, but half adozen Tuscan exiles here in Rome who are not allowed to read a freelybreathed word, come to us for that paper, friends of Ferdinando's livingin Rome. First he lent them the paper, then they got frightened for fearof being convicted through some spy of reading such a thing[81], andprayed to come to this house to read it. There have been six of themsometimes in the evening. We keep a sort of café in Rome, observe, andyour 'Monitore' is necessary to us. You have seen by this time Lamoricière's[82] address to the Papal array. It's extraordinary, while the French are still here, that such apublication should be permitted, obvious as the position taken must beto all, and personally displeasing to the Emperor as the man is known tobe. Magnanimity is certainly a great feature of Napoleon's mind. And nowwhat next? The French are going, of course. You would suppose an attackon Romagna imminent. And better so. Let us have it out at once. I have the papers. I am much the better for some things in them. There'sto be the universal suffrage, the withdrawal of troops, whatever Iwanted. Cavour's despatch to the Swiss is also excellent. Those injuredmartyrs wanted the bone in their teeth, that's all. The wailing in England for Swiss and Savoyards, while othernationalities are to be trodden under foot without intervention, exceptwhat's called _aggression_, is highly irritating to me. Dearest Isa, Robert tore me from my last sentence to you. I was going tosay that I cared less for the attacks of the press on my book than Icare for your sympathy. Thank you for feeling 'mad' for me. But be saneagain. Dear, it's not worth being mad for. In the advertised 'Blackwood, ' do you see an article called 'PoeticAberration'? It came into my head that it might be a stone thrown at me, and Robert went to Monaldini's to glance at it. Sure enough it is astone. He says a violent attack. And let me do him justice. It was onlythe misstatement in the 'Athenæum' which overset him, only the firstfire which made him wink. Now he turns a hero's face to all thiscannonading. He doesn't care a straw, he says, and what's more, hedoesn't, really. So I, who was only sorry for him, can't care. Observe, Isa, if there had been less violence and more generosity, the poemswould obviously have been less deserved. The English were not always so thin-skinned. Lord Byron and Moorehave.... [_The rest of the letter is lost_] * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ Rome: April 2, [1860]. Ever dearest Isa, --Here are the letters! I am sorry I wrote rashlyyesterday; but from an expression of yours I took for granted that thepacket went by the post; and I have been really very anxious about it. No, Isa; I don't like the tone of these letters so well. I canunderstand that what is said of Belgium and the Rhine provinces is inthe event of a certain coalition and eventual complication, but itdoesn't do, even in a thought and theory, to sacrifice a country likeBelgium. I respect France, and 'l'idée Napoléonienne'; yes, butconscience and the populations more. As to Napoleon's waiting for the bribe of Savoy before he would passbeyond Villafranca, this is making him ignoble; and I do not believe itin the least. Also it contradicts the letter-writer's previous letter, in which he said that Savoy had been from the beginning the _sousentendre_ of Venetia. No, I can see that an Italy in unity, a greatnewly constituted nation, might be reasonably asked by her liberator toshift her frontier from beyond the Alps, but for Victor Emmanuel to beexpected at Milan to put his hand into his pocket and pay, withoutcompletion of facts, or consultation of peoples, this would be to 'fairele marchand' indeed, and I could write no odes to a man who could actso. I don't sell my soul to Napoleon, and applaud him _quand même_. Butabsolutely I disbelieve in this version, Isa. If the war had not stoppedat Villafranca, it would have been European; _that_, if not clear at thetime, is clear now--clear from the official statement of Prussia. Byputting diplomacy in the place of the war, a great deal was absolutelyattained, besides a better standpoint for a renewal of the war, shouldthat be necessary. 'Hence those tears'--of Villafranca! The letter-writer is very keen, and evidently hears a good deal, whilehe selects after his own judgment. _I_ am glad to hear that 'L'OpinionNationale' represents the efficient power. That's comfortable. What's tobe done next in the south here rests with _us_, it seems. But what ofthe occupation of Rome? And what is the meaning of Lamoricière beinghere 'with the consent of the Emperor'? Lamoricière can mean no goodeither to the French Government or to Italy; and the Emperor knows itwell. My dearest Isa, let us make haste to say that of course I shall be gladto let my book be used as is proposed. How will we get a copy to M. Fauvety? I enclose an order to Chapman and Hall which M. Dall'Ongaro[83] may enclose to his friend, who must enclose it on to England, with a letter conveying his address in Paris. Then the book may be sentby the _book post_. Wouldn't that do? I shall give a copy to Dall' Ongaro (when I can get a supply), and onefor the Trollopes also, never forgetting dear Kate! (and I do expectcopies through the embassy) but I have not seen a word of the book yet. I only know that, being Cæsar's wife, I am not merely 'suspected' (poorwife!), but dishonored before the 'Athenæum' world as an unnaturalvixen, who, instead of staying at home and spinning wool, stays athome[84] and curses her own land. 'It is my own, my native land!' If, indeed, I had gone abroad and cursed other people's lands, there wouldhave been no objection. That poem, as addressed to America, has alwaysbeen considered rather an amiable and domestic trait on my part. ButEngland! Heavens and earth! What a crime! The very suspicion of it isguilt. The fact is, between you and me, Isa, certain of those quoted stanzas do'_fit_' England 'as if they were made for her, ' which they were _not_, though.... According to your letters, Venetia seems pushed off into the future alittle, don't you think? Still, they are interesting, very. Get Dall' Ongaro to remember me infuture. The details about Antonelli shall go to him. I am delighted atthe idea of being translated by him.... Write to me, my dearly loved Isa. You who are true! let me touch you! Yours ever from the heartBA. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ 28 Via del Tritone:Monday and Tuesday [April 1860]. Ever dearest Isa, --I send you under this enclosure an abstract of somepapers given to me by somebody who can't be named, with a sketch ofAntonelli. I wasn't allowed to copy; I was only to abstract. Buteverything is in. The whole has been verified and may be absolutelyrelied on, I hear. So long I have waited for them. Should I havetranslated them into Italian, I wonder? Or can Dall' Ongaro get to thebottom of them so? Dates of birth are not mentioned, I observe. Fromanother quarter I may get those. About has the character of romancing alittle. Not a word do you say of your health. Do another time. Remember thatyour previous letter left you in bed. Dearest Isa, how it touched me, your putting away the 'Saturday Review'!But dear, don't care more for me than I do for myself. That veryReview, lent to us, _we_ lent to the Storys. Dear, the abuse of thepress is the justification of the poems; so don't be reserved aboutthese attacks. I was a little, little vexed by a letter this morningfrom my brother George; but _pazienza_, we must bear these things. Robert called yesterday on Odo Russell, who observed to him that thearticle in the 'Saturday Review' was infamous, and that the general toneof the newspaper had grown to be so offensive, he should cease to takeit in. (Not on my account, observe. ) 'But, ' said Mr. Russell, 'it'sextraordinary, the sensation your wife's book has made. Every paper Isee has something to say about it, ' added he; 'it is curious. Theoffence has been less in the objections to England than in the praise ofNapoleon. Certainly Monckton Milnes said a good thing when he was askedlately in Paris what, after all, you English wanted. "_We want_" heanswered, "_first, that the Austrians should beat you French thoroughly;next, we want that the Italians should be free, and then we want them tobe very grateful to us for doing nothing towards it. _" This, concludedRussell, 'sums up the whole question. ' Mark, he is very English, but hecan't help seeing what lies before him, having quick perceptions, moreover. Then men have no courage. Milnes, for instance, keeps hissarcasm for Paris, and in England supports his rifle club and allParliamentary decencies. Mind you read 'Blackwood. ' Though I was rather vexed by George's letter(he is awfully vexed) I couldn't help laughing at my sister Henrietta, who accepts the interpretation of the 'Athenæum' (having read the poems)and exclaims, 'But, oh, Ba, such dreadful curses!'... Mrs. Apthorp has arrived, but I have not seen her nor received thepaper. Pins were right, though I should have liked some smaller. 'Monitores' arrived up at the 12. Beyond, nothing. I hear that Mr. Apthorp was struck with the 'brilliant conversation between you andMiss Cobbe. ' You made an impression too, on Mrs. Apthorp. Oh, Isa, how I should like to be with you in our Florence to-day. Yes, yes, I think of you. Here the day is gloomy, and with a sprinkling nowand then of rain. I trust you may have more sun. God bless the city andthe hills, and the people who dwell therein! I have just sent a lyric to Thackeray for his magazine. [85] He begged mefor something long ago. Robert suggested that _now_ he probably wantednothing from such profane hands. So I told him that in that case hemight send me back my manuscripts. In the more favorable case it may bestill too late for this month. The poem is 'meek as maid, ' though thelast thing I wrote--no touch of 'Deborah'--'_A Musical Instrument_. ' Howgood this 'Cornhill Magazine' is! Anthony Trollope is really superb. [86]I only just got leave from Robert to send something: he is so averse tothe periodicals as mediums.... Lamoricière's arrival produces a painful sensation among the peoplehere; and the withdrawal of the French troops has become most unpopular. I am anxious. If the Emperor has consented to his coming, it was puremagnanimity, and very characteristic; but the _cost of this_ should bepaid by France and not Italy, we must feel besides. I am content aboutSavoy. Dearest Isa, you and your 'Saturday Reviewer' shall have Robert'sportrait. Are you sure he didn't ask for _mine_? How good you are to usand Landor! God bless you, says Your tenderly lovingBA. * * * * * _To Mr. Chorley_ 28 Via del Tritone, Rome: April 13, [1860]. My dear Mr. Chorley, --It is always better to be frank than otherwise;sometimes it is necessary to be frank--that is when one would fain keepa friend, yet has a thing against him which burns in one. I shall put myfoot on this spark in a moment; but first I must throw it out of myheart you see, and here it is. Dearest Mr. Chorley, you have not been just to me in the matter of my'Poems before Congress. ' Why have you not been just to me? You are anhonest man and my friend. Those two things might go together. Youropinions, critical or political, are free from stress of friendship. Inever expected from you favor or mercy _because_ you were my friend (itwould have been unworthy of us both) but I did expect justice from you, _although_ you were my friend. That is reasonable. And I consider that as a conscientious critic you were bound to readthrough the whole of the 'rhyme' called 'A Curse for a Nation' beforeticketing it for the public, and I complain that after neglecting to doso and making a mistake in consequence, you refused the poor amends ofprinting my letter in full. A loose paragraph like this found to-day inyour 'Athenæum' about Mrs. Browning 'wishing to state' that the 'Curse'was levelled at America _quoad_ negro-slavery, and the satisfaction ofher English readers in this correction of what was 'generally thought';as if Mrs. Browning 'stated' it arbitrarily (perhaps from fright) and asif the poem stated nothing distinctly, and as if the intention of it_could_ be 'generally thought' what the 'Athenæum' critic took it to be, except by following his lead or adopting his process of a generalskipping of half the said poem--this loose paragraph does not cover agreat fault, it seems to me. Well, I have spoken. As to the extent of the 'general thought, ' we cannot, of course judgehere, where it is so difficult to get access to periodicals. We haveseen, however, two virulent articles from enemies in 'Blackwood' and the'Saturday Review, ' the latter sparing none of its native mud throughthree columns; _not_ to speak of a renewal of the charge in severalpolitical articles with a most flattering persistency. Both thesewriters (being enemies) keep clear of the 'general thought' suggested bya friend, and accepted indeed by friendly and generous reviewers in the'Atlas' and 'Daily News. ' Therefore I feel perfectly unaggrieved by allthe enemies' hard words. They speak from their own point of view, andhave a right to speak. In fact, in printing the poems, I did not expect to help my reputationin England, but simply to deliver my soul, to get the relief to myconscience and heart, which comes from a pent-up word spoken or a tearshed. Whatever I may have ever written of the least worth hasrepresented a conviction in me, something in me felt as a truth. I neverwrote to please any of you, not even to please my own husband. Everygenuine artist in the world (whatever his degree) goes to heaven forspeaking the truth. It is one of the beatitudes of art, and attainablewithout putting off the flesh. To be plain, and not mystical, it is obvious that if I had expectedcompliments and caresses from the English press to my 'Poems beforeCongress, ' the said poems would have been little deserved in England, and a greater mistake on my part than any committed by the 'Athenæum, 'which is saying much. There! I have done. The spark is under my shoe. If in 'losing my temper'I have 'lost my music, ' don't let it be said that I have lost my friendby my own fault and choice also. For I would not willingly lose him, though he should be unjust to methrice, instead of this once throughout our intercourse. Affectionatelyyours, dear Mr. Chorley, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. * * * * * _To Mr. Chorley_ 28 Via del Tritone, Rome: May 2, [1860]. My dear Mr. Chorley, --I make haste to answer your letter, and beg you todo the like in putting out of your life the least touch of pain orbitterness connected with me. It is true, true, true, that some of myearliest gladness in literary sympathy and recognition came from you. Iwas grateful to you then as a stranger, and I am not likely ever toforget it as a friend. Believe this of me, as I feel it of _you_. In the matter of reviews and of my last book, and before leaving thesubject for ever, I want you distinctly to understand that my complaintrelated simply to the mistake in facts, and not to any mistake inopinion. The quality of neither mercy nor justice should be strained inthe honest reviewer by the personal motive; and, because you felt aregard for me, _that_ was no kind of reason why you should like my book. In printing the poems, I well knew the storm of execration which wouldfollow. Your zephyr from the 'Athenæum' was the first of it, gentleindeed in comparison with various gusts from other quarters. All fair itwas from your standpoint, to see me as a prophet without a head, or evenas a woman in a shrewish temper, and if my husband had not beenespecially pained by my being held up at the end of a fork as theunnatural she-monster who had 'cursed' her own country (following theHoly Father), I should have left the '_mistake_' to right itself, without troubling the 'Athenæum' office with the letter they would notinsert. In fact, Robert was a little vexed with me for not being vexedenough. I was only vexed enough when the 'Athenæum' corrected itsmisstatement in its own way. _That did_ extremely vex me, for it made melook ungenerous, cowardly, mean--as if, in haste to escape from the dogsin England, I threw them the good name of America. 'Mrs. Browning _nowstates_. ' Well, dear Mr. Chorley, it was not your doing. So the thing that 'vexedme enough' in you was a mistake of mine. Let us forgive one another ourmistakes; and there, an end. _I_ was wrong in taking for granted thatthe letter which referred to your review was entrusted to you to disposeof; and you were not right in being in too much haste to condemn a bookyou disliked to give the due measure of attention to every page of it. The insurgents being plainly insurgents, you shot one at least of themwithout trial, as was done in Spain the other day. True, that evenfavorable critics have fallen here and there into your very mistake; butis not that mainly attributable to the suggestive power of the'Athenæum, ' do you not believe so yourself? 'Thais led the way!' And now that we clasp hands again, my dear friend, let me say one wordas to the 'argument' of my last poems. Once, in a kind and generousreview of 'Aurora Leigh, ' you complained a little of 'new lights. ' Now Iappeal to you. Is it not rather _you_ than I, who deal in 'new lights, 'if the liberation of a people and the struggle of a nation for existencehave ceased in your mind to be the right arguments for poetry? Observe, I may be wrong or right about Napoleon. He may be snake, scoundrel, devil, in his motives. But the thing he did was done before the eyes ofall. His coming here was real, the stroke of his sword was indubitable, the rising and struggle of the people was beyond controversy, and thestate of things at present is a fact. What if the father of poetry Homer(to go back to the oldest lights) made a mistake about the cause ofAchilles' wrath. What if Achilles really wanted to get rid of Briseisand the war together, and sulked in his tent in a great sham? Should weconclude against the artistic propriety of the poet's argumenttherefore? You greatly surprise me by such objections. It is objected to 'newlights, ' as far as I know, that we are apt to be too metaphysical, self-conscious, subjective, everything for which there are hard Germanwords. The reproaches made against myself have been often of thisnature, as you must be well aware. 'Beyond human sympathies' is a phrasein use among critics of a certain school. But that, in any school, anycritic should consider the occasions of great tragic movements (such asa war for the life of a nation) unfit occasions for poetry, improperarguments, fills me with an astonishment which I can scarcely expressadequately, and, pardon me, I can only understand your objection by asad return on the English persistency in its mode of looking at theItalian war. You have looked at it always too much as a mere table forthrowing dice--so much for France's ambition, so much for Piedmont's, somuch stuff for intrigue in an English Parliament for ousting Whigs, orinning Conservatives. You have not realised to yourselves the dreadfulstruggle for national life, you who, thank God, have your life as anation safe. A calm scholastic Italian friend of ours said to my husbandat the peace, '_It's sad to think how the madhouses will fill afterthis. _' You do not conceive clearly the agony of a whole people withtheir house on fire, though Lord Brougham used that very figure torecommend your international neutrality. No, if you conceived of it, ifyou did not dispose of it lightly in your thoughts as of a Roccabellaconspiracy, full half vanity, and only half serious--a Mazziniexplosion, not a quarter justified, and taking place often on an affairof _métier_--you, a thoughtful and feeling man, would cry aloud that ifpoets represent the deepest things, the most tragic things in humanlife, they need not go further for an argument. And _I_ say, my dear Mr. Chorley, that if, while such things are done and suffered, the poet'sbusiness is to rhyme the stars and walk apart, _I_ say that Mr. Carlyleis right, and that the world requires more earnest workers than suchdreamers can be. For my part, I have always conceived otherwise of poetry. I believe thatif anything written by me has been recognised even by _you_, the causeis that I have written not to please you or any critic, but the deepesttruth out of my own heart and head. I don't dream and make a poem of it. Art is not either all beauty or all use, it is essential truth whichmakes its way through beauty into use. Not that I say this for myself. Artistically, I may have failed in these poems--that is for the criticto consider; but in the choice of their argument I have not failedartistically, _I think_, or my whole artistic life and understanding oflife have failed. There, I cannot persuade you of this, but I believe it. I have tried tostand on the facts of things before I began to feel 'dithyrambically. 'Thought out coldly, then felt upon warmly. I will not admit of 'beingheated out of fairness!' I deny it, and stand upon my innocency. And after all, 'Casa Guidi Windows' was a book that commended itself toyou, Mr. Chorley. [_The rest of this letter is missing_] * * * * * _To John Forster_ 28 Via del Tritone, Rome: Monday [May 1860]. I have tried and taken pains to see the truth, and have spoken it as Ihave seemed to see it. If the issue of events shall prove me wrong aboutthe E. Napoleon, the worse for _him_, I am bold to say, rather than forme, who have honored him only because I believed his intentions worthyof the honor of honest souls. If he lives long enough, he will explain himself to all. So far, Icannot help persisting in certain of my views, because they have beenheld long enough to be justified by the past on many points. Theintervention in Italy, while it overwhelmed with joy, did not dazzle meinto doubts of the motive of it, but satisfied a patient expectation andfulfilled a logical inference. Thus it did not present itself to my mindas a caprice of power, to be followed perhaps by an onslaught onBelgium, and an invasion of England. These things were out of the beat;and _are_. There may follow Hungarian, Polish, or other questions--butthere won't follow an English question unless the English _make_ it, which, I grieve to think, looks every day less impossible. Dear Mr. F. , have you read 'La Foi des Traités, ' written, some of it, byL. N. 's own hand? Do you consider About's 'Carte de l'Europe' (as the'Times' does) 'a dull _jeu d'esprit_'? The wit isn't dull, and theserious intention, hid in those mummy wrappings, is not inauthentic. Official--certainly not; but Napoleonic--yes. I believe so. And I seemto myself to have strong reasons. But you are sorry that Cavour loves popularity in England. I criedrather bitterly, 'Better so!' A complete injustice comes to nearly thesame thing as a complete justice. Have we not watched for a year whileevery saddle of iniquity has been tried on the Napoleonic back, andnothing fitted? Wasn't he to crush Piedmontese institutions like so manyegg-shells? Was he ever going away with his army, and hadn't he occupiedhouses in Genoa with an intention of bombarding the city? Didn't he keeptroops in the north after Villafranca on purpose to come down on us witha Grand Duke at best, or otherwise with a swamping Kingdom of Etruriaand Plon-Plon to rule it? and wouldn't he give back Bologna to the Popebound by seven devils fiercer than the first, and prove Austria betteredby Solferino? Also, were not Cipriani, Farini, and other patriots, his'mere creatures' in treacherous correspondence with the Tuileries;'doing his dirty work, ' 'keeping things in suspense' till destructionshould arrange itself on falsehood? Have I not read and heard from themost intelligent English journals, and the best-informed Englishpoliticians (men with one foot and two ears in the Cabinet) these truethings written and repeated, and watched while they died out into theVast Inane and Immense Absurd from which they were born? So I would rather have a rounded, complete injustice, as we can't havethe complete justice. After all, the thing done is only a nation saved. Hurry up the men who did it on the same cord! Ought not Cavour to bethere? And if the Savoy cession is a crime, he is criminal, he, who undeniablyfrom the beginning contemplated it, not as the price of the war, but asthe condition of a newly constituted Italy. And the condition impliesmore than is understood, more than the consenting parties dare toconfess--can at present afford to confess--unless I am deceived byinformation, which has hitherto justified itself in the event. Bepatient with me one moment--for if I differ from you, I seem to haveaccess to another class of facts than you see. If Italy, for instance, expands itself to a nation of twenty-six millions, would you blame theEmperor who 'did it all' (Cavour's own phrase) for providing an answerto his own people in some small foresight about the frontier, when inthe course of fifty or a hundred years they may reproach his memory withthe existence of an oppressive rival or enemy next door? Mr. Russellsaid to me last January 'Everything that comes out proves the Emperor tohave acted towards Italy like an Italian rather than a Frenchman. ' Atwhich we applaud; that is, you, and Mr. R. , and I, and the Italiansgenerally applaud. But--let us be just--_that_ would not be asatisfactory opinion in France of the Head of the State, would it, doyou think? It was obviously his duty not to be negligent of certaineventualities in the case of his own country, to be a 'Frenchman'_there_. Oh, Savoy has given me pain: and I would rather for the world's sakethat a great action had remained out of reach of the hypotheticalwhispers of depreciators. I would rather not hear Robert say, forinstance: 'It was a great action; but he has taken eighteenpence for it, which is a pity. ' I don't think this judgment fair--and much worsejudgments are passed than that, which is very painful. But, after all, this thing may have been a necessary duty on L. N. 's part, and I canunderstand that it was so. For this loss of the Italians, _that_ is notto be dwelt on; while for the Savoyards, none knew better than Cavour(not even L. N. ) the leaning of those populations towards France foryears back; it has been an inconvenient element of his government. Whether there are or are not natural frontiers, there are naturalbarriers, and the Alps hinder trade and make direct influence difficult;and what the popular vote would be nobody here doubted. Be sure thatnobody did in Switzerland. The Swiss have been insincere, it seems tome--talking of terror when they thought chiefly of territory. But I feeltenderly for poor heroic Garibaldi, who has suffered, he and hisminority. He is not a man of much brain; which makes the subject themore cruel to him. But I can't write of Garibaldi this morning, soanxious we are after an unpleasant despatch yesterday. He is a hero, andhas led a forlorn hope out to Sicily, to succeed for Italy, or to failfor himself. It's 'imprudence, ' if he fails: if otherwise, who shallpraise him enough? it's salvation and glory. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ [Rome], 28 Via del Tritone: May 18, 1860 [postmark]. My dearest Fanny, --It seems to me that you have drunk so much England, which cheers _and_ inebriates, as to have forgotten your Italianfriends. Here have I been waiting with my load of gratitude, till myshoulders ache under it, not knowing to what address to carry it!Sarianna sent me one address of your London lodgings, with thesatisfactory addition that you were about to move immediately. Youreally _might_ have written to me before, unkindest and falsest ofFannies! Or else (understand) you should not have sent me those gracefuland suggestive drawings, for which only now I am able to thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It was very kind of you to let me havethem. Then, pray how did you get my 'Poems before Congress'? Was I not to sendyou an order? Here I send one at least, whether you scorn my gift ornot; and by this sign you will inherit also an 'Aurora Leigh. ' Yes, I expected nothing better from the 'British public, ' which, strictly conforming itself to the higher civilisation of the age, givessympathy only where it gives 'the belt. '[87] As the favorite hero saysin his last eloquent letter, 'In all my actions, whether in private orpublic life, may I be worthy of having had the honor ... _of a notice inthe_ "_Times_, "' he concludes 'of the abuse of the "Saturday Review"'&c. , &c. , say _I_. For the rest, being turned out of the old world, I fall on my feet inthe new world, where people have been generous, and even publishersturned liberal. Think of my having an offer (on the ground of that book)from a periodical in New York of a hundred dollars for every singlepoem, though as short as a sonnet--that is, for its merely passingthrough their pages on the road to the publisher's proper. Oh, I shallcry aloud and boast, since people choose to abuse me. Did you see how Iwas treated in 'Blackwood'? In fact, you and all women, though you hatedme, should be vexed on your own accounts. As for me, it's only what Iexpected, and I have had that deep satisfaction of 'speaking though Idied for it, ' which we are all apt to aspire to now and then. Do youknow I was half inclined to send my little book to Mr. Cobden, and thenI drew back into my shell, with native snail-shyness. We remain here till the end of May, when we remove back to Florence. Meanwhile I am in great anxiety about Sicily. Garibaldi's hardyenterprise may be followed by difficult complications. Let us talk away from politics, which set my heart beatinguncomfortably, and don't particularly amuse you.... Have you read the 'Mill on the Floss, ' and what of it? The author ishere, they say, with her elective affinity, and is seen on the Corsowalking, or in the Vatican musing. Always together. They are said tovisit nobody, and to be beheld only at unawares. Theodore Parker removedto Florence in an extremity of ill-health, and is dead there. I feelvery sorry. There was something high and noble about the man--though hewas not deep in proportion. Hatty Hosmer has arrived in America, andfound her father alive and better, but threatened with another attackwhich must be final. Gibson came to us yesterday, and we agreed that wenever found him so interesting. I grieve to hear that Mr. Page'spictures (another Venus and a Moses) have been rejected at your Academy. Robert deserves no reproaches, for he has been writing a good deal thiswinter--working at a long poem[88] which I have not seen a line of, andproducing short lyrics which I _have_ seen, and may declare worthy ofhim. For me, if I have attained anything of force and freedom by livingnear the oak, the better for me. But I hope you don't think that I mimic[him, or] lose my individuality. [Penini] sends his love with Robert's. [He ri]des his pony and learns his Latin and looks as pretty as ever--tomy way of [thinking]. If you don't write directly, address to Florence. We have another thick Indian letter for you, but Robert is afraid ofsending it till you give us a safe address. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ [Rome: about May 1860. ] [_The beginning of this letter is wanting_] When the English were raging about Savoy, I heard a word or two fromPantaleone which convinced me that the Imperial wickedness did notstrike him as the sin against the Holy Ghost precisely. In fact, I doubtmuch that he (an intimate friend of Massimo d' Azeglio) knew all aboutit before the war. By the by, why does Azeglio write against Rome being the capital justnow? It seems to us all very ill-advised. Italy may hereafter select thecapital she pleases, but now her game ought to be to get Rome, as anindispensable part of the play, as soon as possible. There are greatdifficulties in the way--that's very sure. It's quite time, indeed, thatMrs. Trollope's heart should warm a little towards the Emperor, for noruler has risked so much for a nation to which he did not belong (unlesshe wished to conquer it) as Napoleon has for this nation. He has beentortuous in certain respects--in the official presentation of the pointshe was resolute on carrying--but from first to last there has been onesteady intention--the liberation of Italy without the confusion of ageneral war. Moreover, his eyes are upon Venice, and have been sinceVillafranca. What I _see_ in the very suggestion to England aboutstopping Garibaldi from attacking the mainland was a preparation to theEnglish mind towards receiving the consequence of unity, namely, theseizure of Venice. 'You must be prepared for that. You see where you aregoing? You won't cry out when France joins her ally again!' Lord Johndidn't see the necessity. No, of course he didn't. He never does seeexcept what he runs against. He protested to the last (by the Blue Book)against G. 's attack; he was of opinion, to the last, that Italy wouldbe better in two kingdoms. But he _wouldn't intervene_. In which he wasperfectly right, of course, only that people should see where their roadgoes even when they walk straight. And mark, if France had herselfprevented Garibaldi's landing, Lord John would simply have 'protested. '_He said so. _ France might have done it without the least inconvenience, therefore, and she _did not_. She confined herself to observing that ifV. E. _might_ have Naples, he _must_ have Venice, and that there could beno good in objecting to logical necessities of accepted situations. Inspite of which, every sort of weight was hung on the arms of France thatno aid should be given for Venetia. Certain things written to Austria, and uttered through Lord Cowley, I can't forgive Lord John for; my heartdoes not warm, except with rage. To think of writing only the other dayto an Austrian Court: '_All we can do for you_ is to use our strongestinfluence with France that she should not help Italy against you inVenetia. And in our opinion you will always be strong enough to baffleItaly. Italy can't fight you alone. ' The words I am not sure of, but theidea is a transcript. And the threats uttered through Lord Cowley wereworse--morally hideous, I think. Napoleon's position in France is hard enough of itself. Forty thousandpriests, with bishops of the colour of Mon. D'Orléans and company, having, of course, a certain hold on the agricultural population whichforms so large a part of the basis of the imperial throne. Then add tothat the parties the 'Liberals' (so called) and others, who use thisquestion as a weapon simply. In the Senate and Legislative Body theyhaven't forgotten how to talk, have they--these French? The passion andconfusion seem to have been extreme. After all, we shall get a workingmajority, I do hope and trust, for all the intelligent supporters of theGovernment are with us, and the Chamber will be dissolved at need. Thereis talk of it already in Rome.... At last we see your advertisement. _Viva_ 'Agnes Tremorne'![89] We findit in 'Orley Farm. ' How admirably this last opens! We are both delightedwith it. What a pity it is that so powerful and idiomatic a writershould be so incorrect grammatically and scholastically speaking! Robertinsists on my putting down such phrases as these: 'The Cleeve wasdistant from Orley two miles, though it _could not be driven_ underfive. ' '_One rises up the hill. _' 'As good as _him_. ' 'Possessing more_acquirements_ than he would have _learned_ at Harrow. ' _Learningacquirements!_ Yes, they are faults, and should be put away by afirst-rate writer like Anthony Trollope. It's always worth while to becorrect. But do understand through the pedantry of these remarks that weare full of admiration for the book. The movement is so excellent andstraightforward--walking like a man, and 'rising up-hill, ' and not goinground and round, as Thackeray has taken to do lately. He's cleveralways, but he goes round and round till I'm dizzy, for one, and don'tknow where I am. I think somebody has tied him up to a post, leaving atether. Dearest Isa, the day before yesterday I had two letters fromMadame M---- to ask us to take rooms. He is coming directly to Rome. Shesays he has much to tell me, and it's evident, of course, that anItalian senator, native to the Roman States, wouldn't come here just nowwithout mission or permission. I am full of expectation, but will say nomore. Dearest Isa, have I been long in writing indeed? You see, I let so manyletters accumulate which I hadn't the heart to reply to, that, on takingup the account, I had over much to do in writing letters. Then I havebeen working a little at some Italian lyrics. Three more are gone latelyto the 'Independent, ' and another is ready to go. All this, with helpingPen to prepare for the Abbé, has filled my hands, and they are soontired, my Isa, nowadays. When the sun goes down, I am down. At eight Igenerally am in bed, or little after. And people will come inoccasionally in the day, and annul me. I had a visit from Lady AnnabellaNoel lately, Lord Byron's granddaughter. Very quiet, and very intense, Ishould say. She is going away, and I shall not see her more than thatonce, I dare say; but she looked at me so with her still deep eyes, andspoke so feelingly, that I kissed her when she went away. Another newacquaintance is Lady Marion Alford, the Marquis of Northampton'sdaughter, very eager about literature and art and Robert, for all whichreasons I should care for her; also Hatty calls her divine. I thoughtthere was the least touch of affectation of fussiness, but it may not beso. She knelt down before Hatty the other day and gave her--placed onher finger--the most splendid ring you can imagine, a ruby in the formof a heart, surrounded and crowned with diamonds. Hatty is franklydelighted, and says so with all sorts of fantastical exaggerations. Tell me what you think of the photographs which Robert sends, with hisbest love. I think the head perfect, and the other very poetical andpicturesque. I wish I had mine to send Kate, tell her with my dear love, but I have not one, nor can get one. Perhaps I may have to sit againbefore leaving Rome, and then she shall be remembered. And Robert willgive her his. Pray don't apologise for your Borden. He is very much to be liked. Mrs. Bruen is charmed. He has been three times to talk with me, and Roberthas called on him twice. Robert is quite vexed at your 'pretension'about having friends not good enough for his acquaintance. Yes, reallyhe was vexed. 'Isa _never_ understood him--not she!' Is there not reason, we may murmur? But the truth is he is always ready(be pleased to know) to honour your drafts in acquaintanceship, andchooses to be considered ready. [_The remainder of this letter is wanting_] * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ Florence: June 16, 1860 [postmark]. My dearest Fanny, --I must use my opportunity of sending you thesephotographs, because I think you will care to have them. Peni is_himself_, not a likeness, but an identity. _I_, like a devil, or theEmperor Napoleon, am not as black as I seem; but Pen looks lovely enoughto satisfy my vanity. Your Indian poet's letter was despatched to you from Rome, and 'soApollo saved me. ' Oh--if you knew how I hate giving opinions! I think apoet's opinion of another poet should be paid by some triple fee. I, atleast, always feel that after being ingenuous on these occasions andadvising persons who can barely spell against publishing their epicpoems, one is supposed to be secretly influenced by the fear of a rivalor worse. Give me a triple fee. Poor dearest Fanny, of course you are in the chain; being in England. You are moved to set down the Emperor as 'the Beast' 666, of course. Ifhe crushes 'Garibaldi you must give him up. ' Yes; but what an If. If youstab Miss Heaton with a golden bodkin, right through the heart, undercircumstances of peculiar cruelty, I shall have to give up _you_. If Ibake Penini in a pie and eat him, you'll have to give up me. The Emperor Napoleon is faithful and will be faithful to the Italiancause, and to the cause of the nationalities, as long as and wherever itis prudent, for the general interest; possible without dangerouscomplications. He has risked enough for it, to be trusted a little Ithink--his life and dynasty certainly. At this moment I hear from Romeof a great dinner given by Lamoricière to his staff, or by his staff tohim (I don't know which), only that the health of _Henri Cinq_ wassuggested and drunk at it. Gorgon telegraphed the news to Paris. Whatthen? English newspapers (even such papers as the 'Daily News') havestated that Lamoricière was doing Napoleonic business at Rome. Perhapsthis is of it. Chapman junior is in Florence (doing business upon Lever I believe), andhe maintains that I have done myself no mortal harm by the Congresspoems, which incline to a second edition after all. Had it beenotherwise I yet never should have repented speaking the word out of mewhich burnt in me. Printing that book did me real good. For the rest'Aurora Leigh' is in the press for a _fifth_ edition. Read the 'Word forTruth by a Seaman, ' written by a naval officer of high reputation. We left Rome on the 4th of June, and travelled by vettura throughOrvieto and Chiusi. Beautiful scenery, interesting pictures and tombs, but a fatiguing journey. At least, Pen's pony and I were both of usunusually fatigued, and scarcely, at the end of a week, am I myself yet. I am not as strong since my illness last summer. We stay here till theearly part of July and then remove to Siena, to the villa we had lastyear; and there Pen keeps tryst with his Abbé and the Latin. He has madegreat progress this winter in Latin and much besides, and he isn't goingto be a 'wretched little Papist, ' as some of our friends precipitatelyconclude from the fact of his having a priest for a tutor. Indeed Penhas to be restrained into politeness and tolerance towardsecclesiastical dignities. Think of his addressing his instructor (whocomplained of the weather at Rome one morning) thus--in choice Tuscan:'Of course it's the excommunication. The prophet says that a cursebegins with the curser's own house; and so it is with the Holy Father'scurse. ' Wasn't that clever of Pen? and impertinent, but our Abbé onlytried at gravity; he sympathises secretly with the insorgimento d'Italia, and besides is very fond of Pen. Poor Pen, 'innocent of theknowledge, dearest chuck, ' how his mama has been wickedly cursing hernative country (after Chorley)! It's hard upon me, Fanny, that youwon't tell me of the spirits, you who can see. Here is even Robert, whose heart softens to the point of letting me have the 'SpiritualMagazine' from England. Do knock at Mrs. Milner Gibson's doors till youget to see the 'hands' and the 'heads' and the 'bodies' and the'celestial garlands' which she has the privilege of being familiar with. _Touch_ the hands. Has Mr. Monckton Milnes seen anything so as tobelieve? Is it true that Lord Lyndhurst was lifted up in a chair? Doeshe believe? I hear through Mr. Trollope and Chapman that Edwin Landseerhas received the faith, and did everything possible to persuade Dickensto investigate, which Dickens refused. Afraid of the truth, of course, having deeply committed himself to negatives. This is a moral _lâcheté_, hard for my feminine mind to conceive of. Dickens, too, who is so fondof ghost-stories, as long as they are impossible.... I can scarcely imagine the summer's passing without a struggle on theContinent of Italy. It can't be, I think. At least we are prepared forit here. We find Wilson well. Mr. Landor also. He had thrown a dinner out of thewindow only once, and a few things of the kind, but he lives in achronic state of ingratitude to the whole world except Robert, who waitsfor his turn. I am glad to think that poor Mr. Landor is well;unsympathetical to me as he is in his _morale_. He has the mostbeautiful sea-foam of a beard you ever saw, all in a curl and whitebubblement of beauty. He informed us the other morning that he had'quite given up thinking of a future state--he had _had_ thoughts of itonce, but that was very early in life. ' Mr. Kirkup (who is deafer than apost now) tries in vain to convert him to the spiritual doctrine. Landorlaughs so loud in reply that Kirkup hears him. Pray keep Mr. ---- off till we have settled the independence and unityof Italy. It isn't the hour for peace, and we don't want a secondVillafranca. By the way, I dare say nobody in England lays his face inthe dust and acknowledges, in consequence of the official declarationof the Prussian Minister (to the effect that Prussia was to attack onthe crossing of the Mincio, and that nothing but the unexpectedconclusion of hostilities hindered the general war)--acknowledges thatNapoleon stands fully justified in making that peace. I cannot expect somuch justice in an Englishman. He would rather bury his past mistake ina present mistake than simply confess it. Now no more. May God bless you! Do be happy, and do write to me. We talkof Paris and England for next year. Your very affectionateBA. Robert's love and Pen's. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Florence: about June 1860. ] I didn't write last time, dearest Sarianna, not only because of beingover-busy or over-tired, but because I had not the heart that day. Penihad another touch of fever, and was forced to have a doctor andcataplasms to his feet. It was only a day's anxiety, but I didn't likewriting just then. He had been in the sun or the wind or something. Iwas glad to get away from Rome. There were two cases of fever in ourcourtyard, and both the sun and the shade were _suspectés_. As far asPen is concerned, the evil was averted, and I assure you he is lookingin the full bloom of health, and we have been congratulated on all sideson his appearance and growth since we returned to Florence. Riding somuch has agreed well with him; and the general results of the Romancampaign cannot be said to be otherwise than favourable. Set down asmuch for Robert. Everybody exclaims at his stoutness. In fact, neversince I have known him has he condescended to put on such an air of_robustness_, there's no other word for it. Shall we give the glory toRome, or to _nux_, to which he is constant. For two years and a half hehas had recourse to no other remedy, and it has not yet failed toproduce its effect. How do you unbelievers account for that? At the sametime, I never would think of using it in any active or inflammatorymalady, and where a sudden revolution or _scosso_ is required from theremedial agent. We find poor Mr. Landor tolerably amenable to Wilson, and well inhealth, though he can't live more than three months, he says, and exceptwhen Robert keeps him soothed by quoting his own works to him, considershimself in a very wretched condition, which is a sort of satisfactiontoo. He is a man of great genius, and we owe him every attention on thatground. Otherwise I confess to you he is to me eminentlyunsympathetic.... If ---- 'turns Catholic, ' as you say, on the ground of the organisationof certain institutions, it will be a proof of very peculiar ignorance. This power of organisation is _French_, and not Catholic. You look forit in vain in Rome, for instance, except where the organisation comesfrom France. The _soeurs de charité_, who are of all Catholic nations, are organised entirely by the French. The institutions here are branchinstitutions. In Rome the tendency of everything is to confusion and'individuality' with separate pockets. Lamoricière was in despair at itall, and even now people talk of his resigning, though he gave a dinnerthe other day to his staff, with the toast of '_Henri Cinq_. ' Individuality is an excellent thing in its place, and an infamous thingout of it. In England we have some very successful efforts atorganisation--the post office, which is nearly perfect, and society, inwhich the demarcation between class and class is much too perfect to behumane. In other respects we are apt to fail. We do not fail, however, in organisation only with regard to thesecharitable institutions. We are very hard and unsympathetic in them. Adistinguished woman has been here lately--a Miss Cobbe (a fellow-workerwith Miss Carpenter)--who, having overworked herself, was forced by herphysician to come here for three months and rest, under dire penalties. She went to Isa Blagden's, and returned to England and her work justnow. She is very acute, and so perfectly without Continental prejudices, that she didn't pretend to much interest even in our Italian movement, having her heart in England and with the poor. But she was much struck, not merely with the order of foreign institutions, but with theirsuperior tenderness and sympathy. The account she gave of the Englishworkhouses and hospitals was very sad, very cruel, corresponding, infact, to what I have heard from other quarters. Ah, Sarianna, 'charming old men' who call the Tuscans angels, exceptthat they lie (what an exception!), can be mistaken like others. _That_passes for 'liberality, ' does it? We are not angels, and we don'tlie--there's no more lying in Italy than in England, I begin to affirm. Also, M. Tassinari was in prison, not a week but a month--and well didhe deserve it. We deal now in French coinage, and are to see no morepauls after the middle of next month. Robert thinks it will destroy thelast vestige of our cheapness, but I am very favorable to a unificationof international coinage. It agrees with my theories, you know. We are all talking and dreaming Garibaldi just now in great anxiety. Scarcely since the world was a world has there been such a feat of arms. All modern heroes grow pale before him. It was necessary, however, forus all even here, and at Turin just as in Paris, to be ready to disavowhim. The whole good of Central Italy was hazarded by it. If it had notbeen success it would have been an evil beyond failure. The enterprisewas forlorner than a forlorn hope. The hero, if he had perished, wouldscarcely have been sure of his epitaph even. And 'intervention' _does_ mean quite a different thing at Naples and inLombardy. In Lombardy there was the _foreign tyrant_. At NaplesItalians deal with Italians; and the Austrian influence is _indirect_. So also at Rome. It is this which makes the difficulty of dealing withSouthern Italy and the difference of treatment which you observe incertain French papers. I am sure, though you don't like photographs, you say, that you willfind nothing lacking in what we send you and dearest Nonno of ourPenini. It isn't like him, it's himself. As for me, I murmur, in thedepths of my vanity, that like the Emperor Napoleon (and the devil) I'mnot so black as I'm painted; but I forgive everything for Pen's sake. Robert is not very favourably represented, I think. The beard on theupper lip had not been properly clipped, and makes the space seem toolong for him. Another time I will mend that. I was very unusually tiredafter my journey, but am getting past it. Weather was hot; but withintwo days we have had some cooling rain. Give my best love to M. Milsand, beside the photographs, and thank himfor not being offended in his 'patriotism' by my Congress poems. If heapproved of the preface as he says, I can't see how he can have writtenanything about 'intervention' which I would not accept. Nothing couldhave ended the intervention of Austria, except the intervention ofFrance; and it was on that account that we feel the latter to be a greatand chivalrous action. Italy is grateful. And if France were indifficulty she might count on this delivered nation, as on herself. Inspite of all the bad words hurled at me in every English newspaper andperiodical nearly (and I assure you I have been put in the pillory amongthem) the poems are going into a second edition, Chapman says, and'Aurora Leigh' into a fifth. Also Chapman junior, who has come out hereto see after Lever, smoothes me down a little about Robert, and saysthat the sale is bettering itself, and that a new edition of the 'Poems'will soon be wanted. I just now see a pleasant notice of myself in'Bentley's Magazine. ' Abuse of the 'Congress Poems, ' of course. Then aside stroke at 'Aurora Leigh, ' which was original, of course, becauseit's my way to stand alone and attack people; but the principal merit ofwhich otherwise was the suggestion of 'Lucille' (Lytton's newpoem)--'Lucille, ' says the critic, being superior in holiness and virtueand that sort of thing to 'Aurora'! Of course. They subscribed in England five thousand pounds for Tom Sayers. There'sthe advance of civilisation. Napoleon has gone to Baden to arrange theworld a little more comfortably, I hope. Mr. Lewes and Miss Evans have been here, and are coming back to settleinto our congenial bosom. I admire her books so much, that certainly Ishall not refuse to receive her, though she is not a medium. Sarianna! Your ever affectionate sister. * * * * * The programme of the previous year was repeated in 1860. Returning fromRome to Florence at the beginning of June, the Brownings in July went toSiena to avoid the extreme heat of the summer at Florence, staying asbefore at the Villa Alberti. Their visit to Siena was, however, rathershorter than the previous one, lasting only till September. There is no doubt that Mrs. Browning, during all this time, was losingground in point of health; and she now received another severe blow inthe news of the serious illness of her sister Henrietta (Mrs. SurteesCook). The anxiety lasted for several months, and ended with the deathof Mrs. Cook in the following winter. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ Villa Alberti, Siena: August 21, [1860]. I thank you, my dearest friend, from my heart for your letter, and theray of sunshine it brought with it. Do you know I was childish enoughto kiss it as if it knew what it did. I wish I could kiss _you_. Yes, Ihave been very unhappy, not giving way on the whole, going about my workas usual, but with a sense of a black veil between me and whatever Idid, sometimes feeling incapable of crawling down to sit on the cushionunder my own fig-tree for an hour's vision of this beautifulcountry--sometimes in 'des transes mortelles' of fear. But we must not be atheists, as a friend said to me the other day. Ihope I do not live quite as if I were. But it was a great shock from thebeginning. Henrietta always seemed so strong that I never feared thatway. My first impulse was to rush to England, but this has been over-ruled byeverybody, and I believe wisely. With my usual luck I should just haveincreased the sum of evil instead of bringing a single advantage toanyone. The best thing I can do for the others, is to keep quiet and trynot to give cause for trouble on my account, to be patient and live onGod's daily bread from day to day. I had a crumb or two the day beforeyesterday through Storm, who thought there might be a little lesspain--and here you have sent me almost a slice--may God be thanked! Howgood you were to mention the doctor! It is grievous to me to think ofher suffering. Darling! I knew how strong your sympathy and personal feeling would be, and, evenon that account, I had not the heart and courage to write to you. Butno, dearest friends, I did not receive the letter you speak of, though Iheard of your grief a good while afterwards. And so sorry I was--we bothwere--so sorry for Fanny, so sorry for you! May God bless you all! Howthe spiritual world gets thronged to us with familiar faces, till atlast, perhaps, the world here will seem the vague and strange world, even while we remain. Still, it is beautiful out of this window; and of public affairs inItaly, 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 don'tunderstand that in England) last year we fought the Austrian and now itis Italian against Italian, [90] which tempers every triumph with acertain melancholy. Also the Italian question in the south was decidedin the north, and remained only a question of time, abbreviated (manythink rashly) by our hero Garibaldi. For the crisis, so quickened, involves very serious dangers and most solemn thoughts. The southerndifficulty may be considered solved--so we think--but just now that verysolution opens out, as we all fear a new Austrian invasion in the north, backed indirectly at least by Prussia and Germany, who will use theopportunity in carrying out the coalition against France. There seems nodoubt of the mischief hatched at Toeplitz. I wish I had known thatEngland's influence was not used in drawing together those two powers. Prussia deserves to be--what shall I say?--docked of her Rhenishprovinces? It would be a too slight punishment. She caused theVillafranca halt (according to her official confession by the mouth ofBaron Schleinitz, last spring), and now this second time, would sheinterrupt the liberation of Italy? The aspect of affairs looks verygrave. As to England, England wishes well to this country at thispresent time, but _she will make no sacrifices_ (not even of herhatreds, least of all, perhaps, of her blind hatreds), for the sake often Italys. Tell dear Mr. Martin that after the speech for the Defences, I gave up Lord Palmerston for ever. He plays double. He is too shrewd tobelieve in the probability of invasions, &c. , &c. , but he wants a shieldto guard his sword-arm. The statesmanship of England pines for newblood, for ideas of the epoch, and the Russell old-fogyism will not doany more at all. These old bottles won't hold the new wine. People arepositively calling on the Muse and William Pitt. It's religion to hateFrance, and to set up a 'Boney' as a 'raw head and bloody bones' sort ofscarecrow. But it won't do. As the Revolutionists say, 'È troppo tardi. ' I am not, however, in furies all day, dearest Mrs. Martin. (I answersatisfactorily your question whether I am 'ever calm. ') The newspapersfrom various parts of Italy thunder down on us here, not to speak of'Galignanis' and 'Saturday Reviews. ' See how calm-blooded I must be tobear the 'Saturday Review. ' (I consider it a curiosity in vice, certainly. ) Then we have books from the subscription library inFlorence, and sights of the 'Cornhill, ' and political pamphlets by thebook-post; nay, even the 'Spiritual Magazine, ' sent by Chapman and Hall, in the last number of which that clever and brave William Howitt (who, like a man, is foolish sometimes) suggests gravely in an article that Ihave lately been 'biologised by infernal spirits, ' in order to theproduction of certain bad works in the service of 'Moloch, ' meaning, ofcourse, L. N. Oh! and did anyone tell you how Harriet Martineau, in herpolitical letters to America, set me down with her air of serenesuperiority? But such things never chafe me--never. They don't evenquicken my pulsation. And the place we are passing the summer in is verycalm--a great lonely villa, in the midst of purple hills and vineyards, olive-trees and fig-trees like forest-trees; a deep soothing silence. Amile off we have friends, and my dear friend Miss Blagden is in a villahalf a mile off. This for the summer. Also, we brought with us fromFlorence and dropped in a villino not far, our friend Mr. Landor (WalterSavage), who is under Robert's guardianship, having quarrelled witheverybody in and out of England. I call him our adopted son. (You didnot know I had a son of eighty-six and more. ) Wilson lives with him, andRobert receives from his family in England means for his support. Butreally the office is hard, and I tell Robert that he must be preparedfor 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 andincapacity of will has seldom surprised the world. Of course he does notlive with us, you know, either here or in Florence, but my husbandmanages every detail of his life, and both the responsibility andtrouble are considerable. Still he is a great writer. We owe him somegratitude therefore. Penini has his pony here, and rides with his father. We have had thecoolest summer I ever remember in Italy. I _could_ have been very happy. But God, who 'tempers the wind, ' finds it necessary for the welfare ofsome of us to temper the sunshine also.... As the very poorest proof of gratitude for your letter, Robert suggeststhat I should enclose this photograph of Penini and myself taken at Romethis last spring. You will like to have them, we fancy, but it isRobert's gift. I was half inclined last year to send you a photographfrom Field Talfourd's picture of me, [91] but I shrank back, knowing thatdear Mr. Martin would cry out at the flattery of it, which he well mightdo. But this photograph from nature can't be flattered, so I hazard it. You see the locks are dark still, not white, and the sun, in spite, hasblackened the face to complete the harmony. Pen is very like, and verysweet 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 and you. Let me be as ever, Your affectionate and gratefulBA. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ Villa Alberti, Siena, Sardegna: August 25, [1860]. My dearest Fanny, --I received your letter with thanks upon thanks. Itseemed long since I heard or wrote. I have been very sad, very--with astone hung round my heart, and a black veil between me and all that Ido, think, or look at. One of my sisters is very ill in England--mymarried sister--an internal tumour, accompanied with considerablesuffering, and doubtful enough as to its issue to keep us all (I cananswer at least for myself) in great misery. Robert says I exaggerate, and I think and know that consciously or unconsciously he wants to saveme pain. She went to London, and the medical man called it an anxiouscase. We all know what that must mean. For a little time I was in ananguish of fear, and though come to believe now that no great change anyway is to be expected quickly, you would pity what I feel when theletters are at hand. May God have mercy on us all! I wanted at first toget to England, but everyone here and there was against it, and Isuppose it would have been a pure selfishness on my part to persist ingoing, seeing that the fatigue and the cold in England alone would havebroken me up to a faggot (though of not so much use as to burn) so thatI should have complicated other people's difficulties, without muchmending my own. Still it would have been comfort to me (however selfish)to have just held her hand. But no. Oh, I am resigned to its beingwiser. I am shaken, even at this distance. She has three childrenyounger than my Peni. Don't let me talk of it any more. You see, Fanny, my 'destiny' has always been to be entirely useless tothe people I should like to help (except to my little Pen sometimes inpushing him through his lessons, and even so the help seems doubtful, scholastically speaking, to Robert!) and to have only power at the endof my pen, and for the help of people I don't care for. At momentslately, thanks from a stranger for this or that have sounded ghastly tome who can't go to smooth a pillow for my own darling sister. Now, I_won't_ talk of it any more. After all I try to be patient and waitquietly, and there ought to be hope and faith meantime. The pen-utilities themselves don't pass uncontested, as you observe. Yes, I see the 'Spiritual Magazine, ' and remarked how I was scourged inthe house of my friends. Robert shouted in triumph at it, and hoped Iwas pleased, and as for myself, it really did make me smile a little, which was an advantage, in the sad humour I was in at the time. 'Biologised by infernal spirits since "_Casa Guidi Windows_"' yet 'CasaGuidi Windows' was not wholly vicious it seems to me, nor 'Aurora'utterly corrupt. And Mr. Howitt is both a clever man, and an honest andbrave man, for all his sweeping opinions. Biologised and be-Harrised_he_ is certainly. What an extraordinary admiration! I wonder at _that_more than at any of the external spiritual phenomena. Dearest Fanny, youwere very, very good and generous to take my part with the editor--but_laissez faire_. These things do one no harm--and, for me, they don'teven vex me. I had an anonymous letter from England the other day, fromsomebody who recognised me, he said, in some prodigious way as a greatAge-teacher, all but divine, I believe, and now gave me up on account ofcertain atrocities--first, for the poem 'Pan'[92] in the 'Cornhill'(considered _immoral_!) and then for having had my 'brain so turned bythe private attentions and flatteries of the Emperor Napoleon when I wasin Paris, that I have devoted myself since to help him in thegratification of his selfish ambitions. ' Conceive of this, written withan air of conviction, and on the best information. Now, of the twoimputations, I much prefer 'the inspiration from hell. ' There'ssomething grandiose about that, to say nothing of the superior honestyof the position. What a 'mountainous me' I am 'piling up' in this letter, I who wantrather to write of _you_.... Italy ought not to draw you just now, Fanny. We are all looking for war, and wondering where the safety is. A Piccolomini said yesterday that itwas as safe at Rome as in Florence, which only proved Florence unsafe. Austria may come down on Central Italy any day; and sooner or laterthere must be war. The Storys are alarmed enough to avoid going back toRome until the end of November, when things may be a little arranged. The indignation here is great against 'questa canaglia di Germania. 'Toeplitz means mischief both against France and Italy--that is plain. The Prince of Prussia gave his 'parole de gentilhomme' meaning the wordof a rascal. My poor Venice! But you will see presently, only the fearis that our fire here may flash very far. In any case, it would not bedesirable for Englishmen to come southwards this year. Our plans for thewinter depend entirely on circumstances. If we can go to Rome in anyreasonable security, I suppose we shall go. But I have no heart forplans just now. Dear Isa Blagden is spending the summer in a rough _cabin_, a quarter ofan hour's walk from here, and Mr. Landor is hard by in the lane. This(with the Storys a mile off) makes a sort of colonisation of the countryhere. Otherwise it's a solitude, 'very _triste_, ' say the English, noteven an English church, even in the city of Siena. We get books fromFlorence, and newspapers from everywhere, or one couldn't get on quitewell. As it is I like it very much. I like the quiet! the lying atlength on a sofa, in an absolute silence, nobody speaking for hourstogether (Robert rides a great deal), not a chance of morning visitors, no voices under the windows. The repose would help me much, if it werenot that circumstances of pain and fear walk in upon me through windowsand doors, using one's own thoughts, till they tremble. Pen has had anabbé to teach him Latin, and his pony to ride on, and he and Robert arevery well and strong, thank God. Thank you for your words on spiritualism. I have not _yet_ seen the last'Cornhill. ' It pleases me that Thackeray has had the courage to maintainthe facts before the public; I think _much the better of him_ for doingso. Owen's book I shall try to get. There is a weak reference to thesubject in the 'Saturday Review' (against it), and I see an articleadvertised in 'Once a Week, ' all proving that the public is awaking to aconsideration of the class of phenomena. _Investigation_ is all Idesire. The 'Spiritual Magazine' lingers so this month that I fear, andRobert hopes, something may have happened to it. * * * * * On returning to Rome for the winter, which they did about September, theBrownings found quarters at 126 Via Felice. The following letter waswritten shortly after the death of Mrs. Browning's sister. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ [Rome: autumn 1860. ] In one word, my dearest Fanny, I will thank you for what is said and notsaid, for sympathy true and tender each way. It is a great privilege tobe able to talk and cry; but _I cannot_, you know. I have suffered verymuch, and feel tired and beaten. Now, it's all being lived down; thrownbehind or pushed before, as such things must be if we _are_ to live: notforgetting, not feeling any tie slackened, loving unchangeably, andbelieving how mere a _line_ this is to overstep between the living andthe dead. Do you know, the first thing from without which did me the least goodwas a letter from America, from dear Mrs. Stowe. Since we parted here inthe spring, neither of us had written, and she had not the least idea ofmy being unhappy for any reason. In fact, her thought was tocongratulate me on public affairs (knowing how keenly I felt aboutthem), but her letter dwelt at length upon spiritualism. She had heard, she said, for the fifth time from her boy (the one who was drowned inthat awful manner through carrying out a college jest) without anyseeking on her part. She gave me a minute account of a latemanifestation, not seeming to have a doubt in respect to the verity andidentity of the spirit. In fact, secret things were told, reference toprivate papers made, the evidence was considered most satisfying. Andshe says that all of the communications descriptive of the _state_ ofthat Spirit, though coming from very different mediums (some highCalvinists and others low infidels) tallied exactly. She spoke verycalmly about it, with no dogmatism, but with the strongest dispositionto receive the facts of the subject with all their bearings, and atwhatever loss of orthodoxy or sacrifice of reputation for common sense. I have a high appreciation of her power of forming opinions, let me addto this. It is one of the most vital and growing minds I ever knew. Besides the inventive, the critical and analytical faculties are strongwith her. How many women do you know who are _religious_, and yetanalyse point by point what they believe in? She lives in the midst ofthe traditional churches, and is full of reverence by nature; and yet ifyou knew how fearlessly that woman has torn up the old cerements andtaken note of what is a dead letter within, yet preserved her faith inessential spiritual truth, you would feel more admiration for her thaneven for writing 'Uncle Tom. ' There are quantities of irreverent womenand men who profess infidelity. But this is a woman of another order, observe, devout yet brave in the outlook for truth, and considering, notwhether a thing be _sound_, but whether it be true. Her views areSwedenborgian on some points, beyond him where he departs from orthodoxyon one or two points, adhering to the orthodox creed on certain others. She used to come to me last winter and open out to me very freely, and Iwas much interested in the character of her intellect. Dr. Manningtried his converting power on her. 'It might have answered, ' she said, 'if one side of her mind had not confuted what the other side wasreceptive of. ' In fact, she caught at all the beauty and truth and goodof the Roman Catholic symbolism, saw what was better in it thanProtestantism, and also, just as clearly, what was worse. She admiredManning immensely, and was very keen and quick in all her admirations;had no national any more than ecclesiastical prejudices; didn't take upAnglo-Saxon outcries of superiority in morals and the rest, which makesme so sick from American and English mouths. By the way (I must tellSarianna _that_ for M. Milsand!) a clever Englishwoman (married to aFrenchman) told Robert the other day that she believed in 'a specialhell for the Anglo-Saxon race on account of its hypocrisy. '... Meanwhile you will care for Roman news, and I have not much to tell you. I am very much in my corner, and very quiet. Robert, who has been mostdear and tender and considerate to me through my trial, kept all thepeople off, and even now, when the door is open a little, gloomylionesses with wounded paws don't draw the public, I thank God, and I amnot much teased, if at all. Sir John Bowring came with a letter ofintroduction, and intimate relations with Napoleon to talk of, and hehas confirmed certain views of mine which I was glad to hear confirmedby a disciple of Bentham and true liberal of distinguished intelligence. He said that nothing could be more ludicrous and fanatical than thevolunteer movement in England rising out of the most incredible panicwhich ever arose without a reason. I only hope that if the volunteersever have to act indeed, they may behave better than at Naples, wherethey left the worst impression of English morals and discipline. Theyembarked to return home dead drunk all of them, and the drunkenness wasnot the worst. Sir John Bowring has been ill since he came, so perhapshe may go before I see him again. Then Madame Swab [Schwabe], whom Islightly knew in Paris, has been with me to-day, talking on Italianaffairs. There is room for anxiety about the Neapolitans; but don'tbelieve in exaggerations: we shall do better than our enemies desire. There will be war probably.... Robert has taken to modelling under Mr. Story (at his studio) and ismaking extraordinary progress, turning to account his studies onanatomy. He has copied already two busts, the Young Augustus and thePsyche, and is engaged on another, enchanted with his new trade, workingsix hours a day. In the evening he generally goes out as abachelor--free from responsibility of crinoline--while I go early tobed, too happy to have him a little amused. In Florence he never goesanywhere, you know; even here this winter he has had too much gloomabout him by far. But he looks entirely well--as does Penini. I am weakand languid. I struggle hard to live on. I wish to live just as long asand no longer than to grow in the soul. May God bless you, dearest Fanny. Write. America is making me very anxious just know. If they compromise in thenorth it is a moral death, but a merely physical dissolution of theStates would be followed by a resurrection 'in honor, ' and I should notfear. What are you painting? Your affectionate as everBA. Did you see Lacordaire received? Those are things I care to see inParis, wishing, however, to Guizot, the king of Prussia, and all prigs, the contempt they deserve. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ 126 Via Felice, [Rome]:Monday, [November December 1860]. Ever dearest Isa, --How you grieve me by this news of your being unwell. Dear, I wondered at having no letter, and now with the letter and allthe proofs of your remembering me (newspaper and pens) comes the badword of your being ill.... I myself am not very well. I thought I was going to have a bad attack ofthe oppression, but this morning it seems to have almost gone, andwithout a blister! I had one night very bad. Probably a sudden call fromthe tramontana brought it; even frost we had. Only, on the whole, andconsidering accounts from other places, Rome has distinguished itselffor mildness this year; and I hope I shall keep from bad attacks, havingnot much strength in body, nerve, or spirit to bear up resistinglyagainst them.... Sir John Bowring has been to see us. Yes, he speaks with great authorityand conviction, and it carries the more emphasis because he is notwithout Antigallican prejudice, I observed. He told me that the panic inEngland about invasion had reached, at one time, a point of phrenzywhich would be scarcely credible to anyone who had not witnessed it. People were in terrors, expecting their houses to be burnt and sackeddirectly. Placards of the most inflammatory character, callingpassionately on the riflemen to arm, arm, arm! He himself was hissed atEdinburgh for venturing to say that the rifle-locks would be very rustyif only used against invading Napoleons. He told me that the Emperor's intentions towards Italy had beenundeviatingly ignored, and that whatever had seemed equivocal had beenmisunderstood, or was the consequence of misunderstanding, or of thepress of some otherwise great difficulty. The Italian question was onlybeginning to be understood in England. I said (in my sarcastic way) thatat first they had seemed to understand it upside down. To which hereplied that when, at the opening of the Revolution, he came over withseveral English officers from India, they were _all prepared_ (in caseEngland didn't fight on the Hapsburg side) to enter the Austrian army asvolunteers to help them to keep down Italy. But men like Mr. Trollope find it easy to ignore all this. It is we whohave done the most for Italy--we who did nothing! Yes, I admit so far. We abstained from helping the Austrians with an open force. That now we wish well to the Italian cause is true, I hope, but, atbest, it is a noble inconsistency; and that we should set up a claim toa nation's gratitude on these grounds seems to me worse than absurd. Themore we are in earnest now, the more ashamed we should be for what hasbeen. I have been sorry about Gaeta;[93] but there is somewhere a cause, and, perhaps, not hard to find. That the Emperor is ready to do for Italy_whatever will not sacrifice France_, I am convinced more than ever. Andeven the Romans (who have benefited least) think so. One of the patriotshere, a watchmaker, was saying to Ferdinando the other day that he hadsubscribed to Garibaldi's fund, and had given his name for Viterbo, [94]but that there was one man in whom he believed most, and never ceased tobelieve--Louis Napoleon. And this is the common feeling. Mr. Trollopesaid that they only ventured to unbosom themselves to the English. Nowmy belief is that the Italians seldom do this to the English, as far asNapoleon is concerned. The Italians are _furbi assai_, and wish toconciliate us, and are perfectly aware of our national jealousies. Imyself have observed the difference in an Italian when speaking to myown husband before me and speaking to me alone. Since we came here I have had a letter from Ruskin, written in a verydesponding state about his work, and life, and the world.... Life goes on heavily with me, but it goes on: it has rolled into theruts again and goes.... Write to me, my Isa, and love me. I am your ever loving BA. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ [Rome: November-December 1860. ] ... Now while I remember it let me tell you what I quite forgotyesterday. If through Kate's dealing with American papers you get tohear of a lyric of mine called 'De Profundis, '[95] you are to understandthat it was written by me nearly twenty years ago, _before I knewRobert_; you will observe it is in my 'early manner, ' as they say ofpainters. It is a personal poem, of course, but was written even so, incomparatively a state of retrospect, catching a grief in the rebound alittle. (You know I never _can_ speak or cry, so it isn't likely Ishould write verses. ) The poem (written, however, when I was very low)lay unprinted all those years, till it turned up at Florence just whenpoor Mrs. Howard's bereavement and Mr. Beecher's funeral sermon in the'Independent' suggested the thought of it--on which, by an impulse, Ienclosed it to the editor, who wanted more verses from me. Now you seeit comes out just when people will suppose the motive to be an actualoccasion connected with myself. Don't let anyone think so, dear Isa. Inthe first place, there would be great _exaggeration_; and in thesecond, it's not my way to grind up my green griefs to make bread of. But that poem exaggerates nothing--represents a condition from which thewriter had already partly emerged, after the greatest suffering; theonly time in which I have known what absolute _despair_ is. Don't notice this when you write. Write. Take the love of us three. Yes, I love you, dearest Isa, andshall for ever. BA. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ 126 Via Felice, Rome:Friday, [about December 1860]. I have not had courage to write, my dearest friend, but you will nothave been severe on me. I have suffered very much--from suspense as wellas from certainty. If I could open my heart to you it would please methat your sympathy should see all; but I can't write, and I couldn'tspeak of that. It is well for those who in their griefs _can_ speak andwrite. I never could. But to you after all it is not needful. You understand and haveunderstood. My husband has been very good to me, and saved me all he could, so thatI have had solitude and quiet, and time to get into the ruts of theworld again where one has to wheel on till the road ends. In thisrespect it has been an advantage being at Rome rather than Florence. NowI can read, and have seen a few faces. One must live; and the only wayis to look away from oneself into the larger and higher circle of lifein which the merely personal grief or joy forgets itself. For the rest even I ought to have comfort, I know. I believe that lovein its most human relations is an eternal thing. I do believe it, onlythrough inconsistency and much weakness I falter. Also there are other beliefs with me with regard to the spiritual worldand the measuring of death, which ought, if I had ordinary logic, torescue me from what people in general suffer in circumstances likethese. Only I am weak and foolish; and when the tender past came back tome day by day, I have dropped down before it as one inconsolable. Dearest Mr. Martin--give him my grateful love for every kind thought, and to yourself. Now that page is turned. I wish I knew that you were stronger, and at Pau. It is unfortunate thatjust on this bitter winter you have been unable to get away fromEngland. Here, though there was snow once, we have fared mildly as to climate. And our rooms are very warm. Penini has his pony and rides, and studieswith his Abbé, and looks very rosy and well. I help him to prepare hislessons, but that is all, except hearing him read a little German nowand then, and Robert sees to the music, and the getting up of thearithmetic. For the first time I have had pain in looking into his facelately--which you will understand. I saw a man from Naples two days since, an Englishman of intelligenceand impartiality, who has resided there for months in the heart of thepolitics. He told me that the exaggeration of evils was great. Evilsthere were certainly; and no government succeeding Garibaldi's couldhave satisfied a public trained to expect the impossible. Our poorGaribaldi, hero as he is, and an honest hero, is in truth the weakestand most malleable of men, and had become at last the mere mouthpiece ofthe Mazzinians. If the Bourbons' fall had not been a little delayed, north and south Italy would have broken in two. So I was assured by myfriend, who gave reasons and showed facts. That the Neapolitans are not equal to the other Italians is too plain;and if corrupt governments did not corrupt the government they would beless hateful to all of us, of course. But a little time will givesmoothness to the affairs of Italy, and none of my old hopes are in themeanwhile disturbed. The design as to Rome seems to be to starve out the Pope by thefinancial question; to let the rotten fruit fall at last as much by itsown fault as possible, and by the gentlest shake of the tree. I hear ofthose who doubted most in the Emperor's designs beginning to confessthat he can't mean ill by Italy. Possibly you and dear Mr. Martin think more just now of America than ofthis country, which I can understand. The crisis has come earlier thananyone expected. It is a crisis; and if the north accepts such acompromise as has been proposed the nation perishes morally, which wouldbe sadder than the mere dissolution of States, however sad. It is thedifference between the death of the soul and of the body. There might and ought to be a pecuniary compromise; but a compromise ofprinciple would be fatal. I am anxious that before we go too far with the Minghetti project here(separate administration of provinces) we should learn from America thata certain degree of centralisation (not carried out too far) isnecessary to a strong and vital government. And Italy will want a stronggovernment for some years to come. There is much talk of war in thespring, and if Austria will not cede Venetia war must be, even if sheshould satisfy her other provinces, which she will probably fail to do. This is a dull lecture, but you will pardon it and me. I know all your goodness and sympathy. Do not think that _I_ think that_any bond is broken_, or that anything is lost. We have been fed on thehillside, and now there are twelve baskets full of fragments remaining. May God bless you and love you both! Your ever affectionate and gratefulBA. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ 126 Via Felice, Rome: Tuesday, [January 1861]. Ever dearest Isa, --I wrote a long letter, which you have received, I dohope, and am waiting for a long one from you to tell me that you are notsuffering any more. This is on business merely--that is, it is merely togive you trouble, the customary way for me to do business in theselatter days. Will you, dear, without putting yourself to too muchinconvenience by overhaste, direct the 'Nazione' people to send thejournal, to which we must subscribe for three months, to _S. E. LeGénéral Comte de Noue, Comandante della piazza di Roma. No other name. _The General, who can do what he pleases, pleases to receive our paper(our kind Abbé mediating) on condition that we do not talk of it, and soat last I shall attain to getting out of this dark into the free upperair. It is insufferable to be instructed by the 'Giornale di Roma' as tohow Cialdini writes to Turin that his Piedmontese are perfectlydemoralised, and that the besieged dance for triumph each time anItalian cannon is fired into the vague. On the other hand, I hearregularly every morning from the Romans that Gaeta is taken, [96] withthe most minute particulars, which altogether is exasperating. The lastrumour is of typhus fever in the fortress, but I have grown sceptical, and believe nothing on either side now. One thing is clear, that itwasn't only the French fleet which prevented our triumph.... Robert came home this morning between three and four. A great ball atMrs. Hooker's--magnificent, he says. All the princes in Rome (and evencardinals) present. The rooms are splendid, and the preparations were inthe best taste. The Princess Ruspoli (a Buonaparte) appeared in thetricolor. She is most beautiful, Robert says. So you see our Americans can dance even while the Republic goes topieces. I think I would not do it. Not that I despair of America--Godforbid! If the North will be faithful to its conscience there will beonly an increase of greatness after a few years, even though it may rainblood betwixt then and now. Mr. Story takes it all very quietly. Hewould be content to let the South go, and accept the isolation of theNorth as final. 'We should do better without the South, ' said he. Idon't agree in this. I think that the unity of the State should beasserted with a strong hand, and the South forced to pay taxes andsubmit to law. Mdme. Swab [Schwabe] told me that a friend of hers had travelled withKlapka from Constantinople, and that K. Had said, 'there would not bewar till next year, --diplomacy would take its course for the presentyear. ' Perhaps he did not speak sincerely. I can't understand how theAustrian provinces will hold out in mere talk for twelve months more. Doyou mark the tone of the 'Opinion Nationale' on Austria, and aboutHungary being a natural ally of France, and also what is said in the'Morning Chronicle, ' which always more or less reflects the face of theFrench Government? Then it seems to me that the Emperor's speech is noteminently pacific, though he 'desires peace. ' I hear from rather goodauthority what I hope is possible, that Teliki accepted as a conditionof his liberation, not simply that he would not personally act againstAustria, but that he would use his endeavours to prevent any action onthe part of his compatriots. Men are base. Mr. Prinsep[97] is here. Last autumn he made a walking tour intoCornwall with Alfred Tennyson, to tread in the steps of King Arthur. Tennyson was dreadfully afraid of being recognised and mobbed, anddesired to be called 'the other gentleman, ' which straightway becameconvertible now and then into 'the old gentleman, ' much to hisvexation. But Mr. Prinsep is in the roses and lilies of youth, andcomparatively speaking, of course, the great Laureate was an ancient. Heis in considerable trouble, too by their building a fort in front of hishouse on the southern coast of the Isle of Wight. I couldn't help sayingthat he deserved it for having written 'Riflemen, arm!' It's a piece ofpure poetical justice, really. Here I end. Write to me, my Isa, and do me good with your tender, warm thoughts. Doyou think I have no comfort in feeling them stroke me softly through thedark and distance? May God love you, dearest Isa! Always your lovingBA. Robert's true love, and Pen's. The weather is wonderfully warm. In fact, the winter has been verymild--milder than usual for even Rome. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ 126 Via Felice, Rome:Tuesday, [about January 1861]. You really astonish me, dearest Fanny, so much by your letter, that Imust reply to it at once. I ask myself under what new influence(strictly clerical) is she now, that she should write so? And has sheforgotten me, never read 'Aurora Leigh, ' never heard of me or from methat, before 'Spiritualism' came up in America, I have been calledorthodox by infidels, and heterodox by church-people; and gone onpredicting to such persons as came near enough to me in speculativeliberty of opinion to justify my speaking, that the present churcheswere in course of dissolution, and would have to be followed by areconstruction of Christian essential verity into other than thesemiddle-age scholastic forms. Believing in Christ's divinity, which isthe life of Christianity, I believed this. Otherwise, if the end werehere--if we were to be covered over and tucked in with the Thirty-nineArticles or the like, and good-night to us for a sound sleep in 'sounddoctrine'--I should fear for a revealed religion incapable of expansionaccording to the needs of man. What comes from God has life in it, andcertainly from all the growth of living things, spiritual growth cannotbe excepted. But I shun religious controversy--it is useless. I never'disturb anybody's mind, ' as it is called--let those sleep who can. If Ihad not known that _your_ mind was broken up rather broadly by truthsout of Swedenborg, I should not have mooted the subject, be sure. (Haveyou given up Swedenborg? this by the way. ) Having done so, I am anxiousto set you right about Mrs. Stowe. As the author of the most successfulbook printed by man or woman, perhaps I a little under-rated her. Thebook has genius, but did not strike _me_ as it did some other readers. Her 'Sunny Memories, ' I liked very little. When she came to us inFlorence some years ago, I did not think I should like her, nor didRobert, but we were both of us surprised and charmed with her simplicityand earnestness. At Rome last year she brought her inner nature more incontact with mine, and I, who had looked for what one usually finds inwomen, was startled into much admiration and sympathy by finding in hera largeness and fearlessness of thought which, coming out of a clericaland puritan _cul-de-sac_, and combined with the most devout and reverentemotions, really is fine. So you think that since 'Uncle Tom' she hasturned infidel, because of her interest in Spiritualism. Her last wordsto me when we parted, were, 'Those who love the Lord Jesus Christ neversee one another for the last time. ' That's the attitude of the mindwhich you stigmatise as corrupting. With regard to 'Spiritualism, ' so called, you might as well say'_books_' are dangerous, without specifying the books. Surely you _know_that every sort of doctrine is enjoined by these means, from Church ofEnglandism to Free Love. A lady was with me this very morning, who wasconverted from infidelity to Christianity solely by these means, and Iam told that thousands declare the same. As far as I am concerned, Inever heard or read a single communication which impressed me in theleast: what does impress me is the probability of there beingcommunications at all. I look at the movement. What _are_ theseintelligences, separated yet relating and communicating? What is theirstate? what their aspiration? have we had part or shall we have partwith them? is this the corollary of man's life on the earth? or are theyunconscious echoes of his embodied soul? That anyone should admit a fact(such as a man being lifted into the air, for instance), and not beinterested in it, is so foreign to the habits of my mind (which can'tinsulate a fact from an inference, and rest there) that I have not aword to say. Only I _see_ that if this class of facts, howevergrotesque, be recognised among thinkers, our reigning philosophy willmodify itself; scientific men will conceive differently from Humboldt(for instance) of the mystery of life; the materialism which stifles thehigher instincts of men will be dislodged, and the rationalism whichdivides Oxford with Romanism (_nothing between_, we hear!) will receivea blow. _No truth can be dangerous. _ What if Jesus Christ be taken for a medium, do you say? Well, what then? As perfect man, He possessed, I conclude, the full complement of a man's faculties. But if He walked on the sea asa medium, if the virtue went out of Him as a mesmeriser, He also spokethe words which never man spoke, was born for us, and died for us, androse from the dead as the Lord God our Saviour. But the whole theory ofspiritualism, all the phenomena, are strikingly _confirmatory_ ofrevelation; nothing strikes me more than that. Hume's argument againstmiracles (a strong argument) disappears before it, and Strauss'sconclusions from _a priori_ assertion of impossibility fall in pieces atonce. Now I have done with this subject. Upon the whole, it seems to me betterreally that you should not mix yourself up with it any more. Also I wishyou joy of the dismissal of M. Pierart. There was no harm that he tookaway your headache, if he did not presume on that. You tell me not tobid you to beware of counting on us in Paris. And yet, dearest Fanny, Imust. The future in this shifting world, what is it? As for me, whom yourecognise as 'so much myself, ' dear, I have a stout pen, and till itslast blot, it will write, perhaps, with its 'usual insolence' (as afriend once said), but if you laid your hand on this heart, you wouldfeel how it stops, and staggers, and fails. I have not been out yet, andam languid in spirits, I gather myself up by fits and starts, and thenfall back. Do you know, I think with positive terror sometimes, less ofthe journey than of having to speak and look at people. If it werepossible to persuade Robert, I should send him with Pen; but he wouldn'tgo alone, and he must go this year. Oh, I daresay I shall feel more upto the friction of things when once I have been out; it's stupid to giveway. Also my sister Arabel talks of meeting me in France, though I mighthave managed that difficulty, but that Robert should see his father isabsolutely necessary. Meanwhile we don't talk of it, and by May or JuneI shall be feeling another woman probably.... So you are going to work hard in Germany: that is well. Only beware ofthe English periodicals. There's a rage for new periodicals, and becausethe 'Cornhill' answers, other speculations crowd the market, overcrowdit: there will be failures presently. I have written a long letter when I meant to write a short one. May Godkeep you, and love you, and make you happy! Your ever affectionate BA. I am anxious about America, fearing a compromise in the North. All otherdangers are comparatively null. * * * * * _To Miss E. F. Haworth_ 126 Via Felice, Rome:Saturday, [about January 1861]. Ah, dearest Fanny, I can't rest without telling you that I am sorry atyour receiving such an impression from my letter. May God save me fromsuch a sin as arrogance! I have not generally a temptation to it, through knowing too well what I am myself. At the same time, I do notdispute my belief in what you have so often confessed, that you don'thold your attainments and opinions sufficiently 'irrespectively ofpersons. ' Believing which of you, I said, 'under what new influence?'and if I said anything with too much vivacity, forgive me with thatsweetness of nature which is at least as characteristic of you as theintellectual impressionability. Really I would not wound you for theworld--but I myself perhaps may have been over-excitable, irritable justthen, who knows? and, in fact, I _was_ considerably vexed at the momentthat, from anything said by me, you would infer what was so injuriousand unjust to a woman like Mrs. Stowe. I named her in this relationbecause she struck me as a remarkable example of the compatibility offreedom of thought with reverence of sentiment. You generally get one orthe other; the one excluding the other. I never considered her a deepthinker, but singularly large and unshackled, considering theassociations of her life, she certainly is. When I hinted at herstepping beyond Swedenborg in certain of her ideas, I referred to herbelief that the process called 'regeneration, ' may _commence_ in certaincases beyond the grave, and in her leaning to universal salvation views, which you don't get at through Swedenborg. For the rest, I don't think, if you will allow of my saying so, that youapprehend Swedenborg's meaning very accurately always. If Swedenborg sawsin and danger in certain communications, for instance, why did heconsider it privilege on his own part to live in the world of spirits ashe did. True, he spoke of 'danger, ' but it was to those who, themselvesweak and unclean, did not hold 'by the Lord. ' He distinctly said that inthe first unfallen churches there was incessant communion, and that the'new church, as it grew, would approximate more and more to that earliercondition. There is a distinct prospect given in Swedenborg of anincreasing aptitude in the bodies and souls of men towards communicationwith the Disembodied. I consider that he foresaw not only what we areseeing (if these manifestations be veritable) but greater and morefrequent phenomena of the same class, --which does not in any way excludeconsiderable danger to some persons in the meanwhile. And do you think Idoubt _that_? No indeed. Unsettled minds, especially when underaffliction, will lose their balance at moments, --there is danger. It isnot the occasion for passion and fanaticism of sentiment, but for calmand reasonable inquiry into facts. Let us establish the facts first, andthen '_try the spirits_' as the apostle directs; afterwards remains thedifficulty of assuring oneself of the personalities. I don't think youshould complain of the subject being unsatisfactory to you, because youdon't get 'a sublime communication, ' or a characteristic evidence ofsome spirit known to you. Much less would satisfy _me_. But it seemed tome that the consideration of the subject disturbed you, made youuncomfortable, and that you didn't approach any conclusion, and withthat impression and not because of 'contempt, ' be sure, I advised you tolet it rest. Why should we beat our heads against an obstacle which wecan't walk through? Then your liability to influence is against you hereas much as your attraction towards such high speculations is in yourfavour. You have an 'open mind, ' yes, but you leave all the doors open, and you let people come in every now and then, and lock them, and keepthem locked as long as said people stand by. The teachings ofSpiritualism are much like the teachings in the world. There areexcellent things taught, and iniquitous things taught. Only the sublimecommunications are, as far as I know, decidedly absent. Swedenborgdirects you to give no more weight to what is said by a spirit-man thanby a man in the body, and there's room for the instruction. 'Heralds ofProgress' on one side, 'Heralds of Light' on the other, if a right thingis said, 'judge ye. ' If infidels are here, there are devout, yes, andvery orthodox Christians there. I beg to say that when I speak of 'old cerements' being put off, Ipre-suppose a living body in resurrection. Also, I don't call_marriage_, for instance, an old cerement. We must distinguish. Withregard to the common notion of a 'hell, ' as you ask me, I don't believein it. I don't believe in any such thing as arbitrary reward orpunishment, but in consequences and logical results. That seems to meGod's way of working. The Scriptural phrases are simply symbolical, itseems to me, and Swedenborg helps you past the symbol. Then as to theRedemption and its mode--let us receive the thing simply. Dr. AdamClarke, whose piety was never doubted, used to say, 'Vicarious sufferingis vicarious nonsense. ' Which does not hinder the fact that thesuffering of the Lord was necessary, in order that we should not suffer, and that through His work and incarnation His worlds recovered thepossibility of good. It comes to the same thing. The manner in whichpreachers analyse the Infinite, pass the Divine through a sieve, hasceased to be endurable to thinking men. You speak of Luther. We allspeak of Luther. Did you ever _read_ any of his theological treatises. He was a schoolman of the most scholastic sect; most offensive, mostabsurd, presenting my idea of 'old cerements' to the uttermost. We areentering on a Reformation far more interior than Luther's; and themisfortune is, that if we don't enter we must drop under the lintel. Doyou hear of the storms in England about 'Essays and Reviews'? I haveseen the book simply by reviews in abstract and extract. I should agreewith the writers in certain things, but certainly not in all. I have nosort of sympathy with what is called 'rationalism, ' which is positivismin a form. The vulgar idea of miracles being put into solution, leavesyou with the higher law and spiritual causation; which the rationalistsdeny, and which you and I hold faithfully. But whatever one holds, freediscussion has become necessary. That it is full of danger; that, inconsequence of it, many minds will fall into infidelity, doubt, anddespair, is certain; but through this moral crisis men must pass, or theend will be worse still. That's my belief, I have seen it coming foryears back. 'The hungry flock looks up and is not fed, ' except with chopped hay ofthe schools. Go into any church in England, or out of England, and youhear men preaching 'in pattens, ' walking gingerly, lest a speck ofnatural moisture touch a stocking; seeking what's 'sound, ' not what's'true. ' Now if only on theology they must not think, there will be soona close for theologians. Educated men disbelieve to a degree quiteunsuspected. That, I know of knowledge. No! Swedenborg does not hold the existence of _devils_ in the ordinarymeaning. Spiritual temptation comes, he says, through disembodiedcorrupt spirits, out of this or _other earths_. The word Satan, remember, he conceives to represent a company of such evil spirits. Now in what spirit have I written all this? Gently, this time, I dohope. If you knew in what an agonised state of humiliation I amsometimes, you would not suspect me of 'despising' you? Oh no, indeed. But I am much in earnest, and can't 'prophesy smooth things, ' at momentsof strong conviction. Who can? Indeed, indeed, yes. I am very anxious about what passes in Paris. Doyou know that Keller's infamous discourse was _corrected by Guizot's ownhand_? Mr. Pentland (who was with the Prince of Wales) knows G. Andthis. He (P. ) has just come from Paris. He knows the 'sommités' there, and considers that, though there is danger, yet on the whole the Emperordominates the situation. Prince N. 's speech, in its general outline, wassubmitted to the E. And had his full sympathy, _Persigny said to_ P. Orin his presence. Let no one ever speak ill of Prince N. Before me; Iread all the seventeen columns in the 'Moniteur, ' and most magnificentwas the discourse. Rome is greatly excited, but hopeful. There may bedelay, however. Surely you don't think the large head of Robert bad. Why, it isexquisite.... I can't read over, and send this scratch that you maypardon me before you go (not to lose the post). Sarianna says that Squires carries about his own table. In which case, Igive him up. Don't _you_ write. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ 126 Via Felice, [Rome: early in 1861]. Dearest dear Isa, --We don't get the paper. Will you ask why? Here's aspecial address enclosed. I have just heard from what seems excellent authority (_F. P. _ Zanettihas been here) that a French company is to be withdrawn from Rometo-day, and that _all_ the troops will be immediately withdrawn from theR. S. , except Rome and Cività Vecchia. The French generals, however, werenot aware of this yesterday morning, though prepared for much, and thusI can't help a certain scepticism. There is an impression in Frenchquarters, that the delay arises from a fear of a '_coup_' on the part ofAustria, if she didn't see France hereabouts. But Gorgon means to try toget away before the crisis, which isn't in his tastes at all. De Nouehas gone--went yesterday. I heard yesterday of Sir John Bowring telling somebody that _the time_had resolved itself now into an affair of _days_. Still, there arepeople I suppose who hold fast their opinions of the antique form, likeMr. Massy Dawson, for instance, who called on me yesterday withmoustaches and a bride, but otherwise unchanged. He still maintains thatNapoleon will perish in defence of the Papacy, and that (from first tolast) he has been thwarted in Italy. 'I know that Sir John Bowring, Diomed Pantaleone, Mrs. Browning' (bowing graciously to me in thatcomplimentary frame of body which befits disputants with femalecreatures), 'and other persons better informed than I am, thinkdifferently. And, in fact, if I looked only _at facts_ and at theworldly circumstances of the case, I should agree with you all. Butreading the "Apocalypse" as I do, I find myself before a fixedconclusion!' Imagine this, dearest Isa mine, his bride sitting in adelicate dove-coloured silk on the sofa, as tame as any dove, and notventuring to coo even. I suppose she thought it quite satisfactory. Whata woman with a brain could be made to suffer under certain casualties!He quoted simply St. John and Mr. Kinglake! Mr. Kinglake plainly runninga little with St. John. 'Wasn't he (Kinglake) a member of Parliament, and a lawyer?' And if his allegation wasn't true, and if Napoleon didnot propose to Francis Joseph to swap Lombardy for the Rhine provinces, why was there no contradiction on the part of the French Emperor? Now do mark the necessity of Napoleon's saying, 'I didn't really pickMr. Jones's pocket of his best foulard last Monday--no, though it hungout a tempting end. Pray don't let the volunteers think so ill of me. ' That would have been '_like_' our Emperor--wouldn't it? By the way, I had yesterday a crowd of people, and all at once, so thatI was in a flutter of weakness, and didn't get over it quickly. Mrs. Bruen brought Miss Sewell (Amy Herbert) and Lady Juliana Knox, whomAnnunziata takes in as a homoeopathic dose, 'È molto curioso questocognome, precisamente come la medicina--_nux_ (tale quale). ' She (LadyJuliana) had just been presented to the Pope, just before his illness, and was much touched, when at the close of the reception ofindiscriminately Catholics and Protestants, he prayed a simple prayer inFrench and gave them all his benediction, ending in a sad humble voice, '_Priez pour le pape. _' It _was_ touching--was it not? Poor old man! When you feel the humanflesh through the ecclesiastical robe, you get into sympathy with him atonce. Miss Sewell will come and see me again, she promised, and then I shalltalk with her more. I couldn't get at her through the people yesterday. She is very nice, gentle-looking, cheerful, respectable sortof--single-womanish person (decidedly single) of the olden type; verysmall, slim, quiet, with the nearest approach to a poky bonnet possiblein this sinful generation. I, in my confusion, did not glance at herpetticoats, but, judging _a priori_, I should predicate a naturalincompatibility with crinoline. But really I liked her, liked her. Therewere gentleness, humility, and conscience--three great gifts. Of coursewe can touch only on remote points; but I hope (for my own sake) we maytouch on these, and another day I mean to try. She said one thing whichI liked. Speaking of convents, she 'considered that women mustdeteriorate by any separation from men. ' Now that's not only true, butit is not on the surface of things as seen from her standpoint. I had a visit a day ago from M. Carl Grün, a Prussian, with a letter ofintroduction from Dall' Ongaro. I feel a real regard and liking forDall' Ongaro, and would welcome any friend of his. No--my Isa. I wouldprefer him as my translator to any 'young lady of twenty. ' Heavens, never whisper it to the Marchesa, but I confide to you that my blood rancold at that thought. I know what poets of twenty must in allprobability be--Dall' Ongaro _is_ a poet, and has a remarkable commandof language. I have tried my hand at turning into literal Italian prose (only markingthe lines) a lyric on Rome sent lately to America; and I may show it toyou one of these days. Now I must send off this. In tender love. Your BA. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ [Rome, ] 126 Via Felice: March 20, [1861]. ... Let me answer your questions concerning _Non Pio V. E. _ Se non vero, ben trovato. Very happy, and I hope true. Probably enough it may betrue, though I never heard it but from you. There was a banner with'Viva Pio IX. ' on one side, and 'Viva V. E. Re d'Italia' on theother--that's true. And various devices we have had, miraculous rains ofrevolutionary placards among the rest. The French have taken to'protect' our demonstrations here, half by way of keeping them under, perhaps--although the sympathy between the people and the troops (Gorgonapart) has been always undeniable. You know there was to be a giganticdemonstration to meet the declaration in the North. It was fixed tospread itself over three days. The French politely begged the 'papalini'to keep out of sight, and then they marched with the Roman demonstrationfor two days--twenty thousand Romans gathered together, I hear fromthose who were there, the greatest order observed--tricolors insinuatedinto the costume of all the women. After a certain time, French officerturns round and addresses the populace 'Gioventù Romana, basta cosí. Adesso bisogna andare a casa, poichè mi farebbe grandissimo dispiacered' aprire ad alcuno la strada delle carceri. ' The last words saidsmiling--as words to the wise. 'Grazie, grazie, grazie' were replied onall sides, and the people dispersed in the best humour possible. Yesterday (San Giuseppe) we were to have had it repeated, but it rainedhard, which was fortunate, perhaps; and I hear something of cannonsbeing placed in evidence, and of Gorgon saying 'de haute voix' that hecouldn't allow it to go on. But everybody understands Gorgon. He hascertainly, up to a point, Papal sympathies, and is as tender as he daresbe to the Holy Father, and the irritation and wrath of the priestlyparty is naturally great. On the other hand, the whole body of Frenchtroops and their officers are as much vexed by Gorgon as Gorgon can vexme, and there's fraternisation with the Romans to an extraordinarydegree. Penini came home three days ago in a state of ecstasy. 'No--he never hadbeen so happy in all his life. Oh mama, I _am_ so happy!' What hadhappened, I asked. Why, Pen, being on the Pincio, had fallen on theFrench troops, had pushed through, and heard 'l'ordre du jour' read, hadmade friends with 'ever so many captains, ' had marched in the ranksround the Pincio and into the _caserne_, had talked a great deal aboutChopin, Stephen Heller, &c. , with musical officers, and most aboutpolitics, and had been good-naturedly brought back to our door becausehe was 'too little to come alone through the crowd. ' What had they nottold him? Such things about Italy. 'They hoped, ' said Pen, 'that _Iwould not think_ they were like the Papalini. No indeed. They hoped Iknew the French were different quite; and that, though they protectedthe Holy Father, they certainly didn't mean to fight for him. What_they_ wanted was V. E. King of Italy. _Napoléon veut l'Italie libre. _ Iwas to _understand that, and remember it_. ' The attention, and thedesire to conciliate Pen's good opinion, had perfectly turned thechild's head. It will be 'dearest Napoleon' more than ever. Of course, he had invited the officers to 'come in and see mama, ' only they weretoo discreet for this. Pantaleone is exiled--ordered to go in eight days, three of which arepassed. He is still in hopes of gaining more time, but the Pope is saidto be resolutely set against him. I am very sorry, not surprised. Hetold Robert yesterday, that nothing can be surer than that Napoleon hasbeen throughout a true friend to Italy. Which is a good deal for a manto admit who began with all the irritation against Napoleon of a Romanof 1849. Even after the war, through Villafranca, the bad feelingreturned, and as he lives so much among the English, it was only naturalthat he should receive certain influences. He is with Odo Russell (whocalls him Pant) nearly every day, and Mr. Cartwright is very intimatewith him besides. But P. Is above all things Italian, and the Italian ofthe most _incisive_ intellect I ever talked with. He praises Lord John. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Rome, ] [end of March] 1861 [postmark]. We take ourselves to be dismally aggrieved, ever dearest Sarianna, byyour criticisms on our photographs. After deep reflection I can't helpfeeling sure (against Robert's impression) that he sent you--not theright one, but one which has undeniably a certain 'grin. ' I prevail withhim to let you have the _two-third likeness_ this time, in order todecide the point. If you keep your opinion, why then all artistic Romeis against you without exception. Nobody likes the sepia-coloured thingof last year in comparison. Every album in Rome gives up its dead andinsists on the new likeness--not only is it considered more like, but soinfinitely superior in expression and poetical _convenance_, that it_ought_ to be more like. So everybody thinks. With regard to the head, Iam of opinion that the head is beautiful, and the eyes singularly fullof expression for photographed eyes, but there may be more difference ofopinion about the head. The _two-third view_ you certainly can't haveseen. Why, we had even resolved (as we couldn't hope to grow younger) tostand or fall with posterity by this production. 'Ecco!' As to age--no! it's cruel of you to talk so. Robert's beard wastolerably white when he was in Paris last, and, in fact, his moustacheis less so than the rest, therefore there can't be, and isn't in thisrespect, so rapid a 'decline and fall' in his appearance. The clippingof the side whiskers, which are very grey, is an advantage, and as tothe hair, it is by no means cut short. 'Like an _épicier_?' No indeed. The _épicier_ is bushy and curly about the ears (see an example in'Galignani'), and moreover will keep the colour of the curl 'if he dyesfor it'--an extremity to which Robert and I will never be driven--havingtoo much the fear of attentive friends and affectionate biographersbefore our eyes--as suggested by poor Balzac's. But Robert is lookingremarkably well and young--in spite of all lunar lights in his hair. Though my hair keeps darker with a certain sprinkle however, underneathwhich forces its way outwards, I would willingly change on the wholewith him, if he were not my own Robert. He is not thin or worn, as Iam--no indeed--and the women adore him everywhere far too much fordecency. In my own opinion he is infinitely handsomer and moreattractive than when I saw him first, sixteen years ago--which does notmean as much as you may suppose, that I myself am superannuated andwholly anile, and incompetent therefore for judgment. No, indeed, Ibelieve people in general would think the same exactly. And as to themodelling--well, I told you that I grudged a little the time from hisown particular art--and that is true. But it does not do to disheartenhim about his modelling. He has given a great deal of time to anatomywith reference to the expression of form, and the clay is only the newmedium which takes the place of drawing. Also, Robert is peculiar in hisways of work as a poet. I have struggled a little with him on thispoint--for I don't think him right--that is to say, it wouldn't be rightfor me--and I heard the other day that it wouldn't be right forTennyson. Tennyson is a regular worker, shuts himself up daily for somany hours. And we are generally so made that a regular hour is good, even for so uncertain an influence as mesmerism. But Robert waits for aninclination--works by fits and starts--he can't do otherwise hesays. [98] Then reading hurts him. As long as I have known him he has notbeen able to read long at a time--he can do it now better than in thebeginning of time. The consequence of which is that he wants occupationand that an active occupation is salvation to him with his irritablenerves, saves him from ruminating bitter cud, and from the process whichI call beating his dear head against the wall till it is bruised, simplybecause he sees a fly there, magnified by his own two eyes almostindefinitely into some Saurian monster. He has an enormous superfluityof vital energy, and if it isn't employed, it strikes its fangs intohim. He gets out of spirits as he was at Havre. Nobody understandsexactly why--except me who am in the inside of him and hear him breathe. For the peculiarity of our relation is, that even when he's displeasedwith me, he thinks aloud with me and can't stop himself. And I knowultimately that whatever takes him out of a certain circle (where habitsof introvision and analysis of fly-legs are morbidly exercised), is lifeand joy to him. I wanted his poems done this winter very much--and herewas a bright room with three windows consecrated to use. But he had aroom all last summer, and did nothing. Then, he worked himself out byriding for three or four hours together--there has been little poetrydone since last winter, when he did much. He was not inclined to writethis winter. The modelling combines body-work and soul-work, and themore tired he has been, and the more his back ached, poor fellow, themore he has exulted and been happy--'_no, nothing ever made him so happybefore_'--also the better he has looked and the stouter grown. So Icouldn't be much in opposition against the sculpture--I couldn't, infact, at all. He has the material for a volume, and will work at it thissummer, he says. His power is much in advance of 'Strafford, ' which ishis poorest work of all. Oh, the brain stratifies and maturescreatively, even in the pauses of the pen. At the same time his treatment in England affects him naturally--and formy part I set it down as an infamy of that public--no other word. Hesays he has told you some things you had not heard, and which, Iacknowledge, I always try to prevent him from repeating to anyone. Iwonder if he has told you besides (no, I fancy not) that an English ladyof rank, _an acquaintance of ours_ (observe that!), asked, the otherday, the American Minister whether 'Robert was not an American. ' TheMinister answered 'Is it possible that _you_ ask me _this_? Why, thereis not so poor a village in the United States where they would not tellyou that Robert Browning was an Englishman, and that they were verysorry he was not an American. ' Very pretty of the American Minister--wasit not?--and literally true besides. I have been meditating, Sarianna, dear, whether we might not make oursummer out at Fontainebleau in the picturesque part of the forest. Itwould be quiet, and not very dear. And we might dine together and takehands as at Havre--for we will all insist on Robert's doing thehospitality. I confess to shrinking a good deal about the noise ofParis--we might try Paris later. What do you say? The sea is so veryfar--it is such a journey--it looks so to me just now. And the south ofFrance is very hot--as hot as Italy--besides making you pay greatly 'foryour whistle. ' Switzerland would increase both expenses and journey foreverybody. Fontainebleau is said to be delicious in the summer, and ifyou don't mind losing your sea bathing, it might answer. Arabel wants meto go to England, but as _I did not last year_ my heart and nervesrevolt from it now. Besides, we belong to the nonno and you thissummer. Arabel can and, I dare say, will join us. And Milsand? You say'once in three years. ' Not quite _so_, I think. In any case, it has beenfar worse with some of mine. All the days of the three times of meetingin fourteen years, can only be multiplied together into _three weeks_;and this after a life of close union! Also, it was not _her_ fault--shehad not pecuniary means. I am bitter against myself for not having goneto England for a week or two in the Havre year. I could have done it, Robert would have let me. But now, no more. It was the war the yearbefore last, and my unsteadiness of health last year, which kept us fromour usual visit to you. This time we shall come. Only we shall avoid the Alps, coming and going, out of prudence. Then, for next winter, we return to Rome.... Why do you believe all the small gossip set in movement by the Emperor'senemies, in Paris, against his friends, as in foreign countries againsthimself? It's a league of lies against him and his. 'Intriguinglacqueys. ' That's a sweeping phrase for all persons of distinction inFrance, except members of the Opposition. That men like De Morny andWalewski may speculate unduly I don't doubt, but even the 'Times' saysnow that these things have been probably exaggerated. I have heard greatgood of both these men. As to Prince Napoleon, he has spoken like a manand a prince. We are at his feet here in Italy. Tell our dear friendMilsand that I read the seventeen columns of the speech in the'Moniteur. ' Robert said 'magnificent. ' I had tears in my eyes. There mayhave been fault in the P. 's private life--and may be still. Where is aclean man? But for the rest, he has done and spoken worthily--and whatis better, we have reason to believe here that the Emperor sympathiseswith him wholly. Odo Russell knows the Prince--says that he is'pétillant d'esprit' and has great weight with the Emperor. [_The remainder of this letter is missing_] * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ [Rome, ] 126 Via Felice: [April 1861]. [My] very dear friends, how am I to thank [you] both? I receive thephotograph with a heart running over. It is perfect. Never could alikeness be more satisfactory. It is himself. Form, expression, thewhole man and soul, on which years cannot leave the least dint of atooth. The youthfulness is extraordinary. We are all crying out againstour 'black lines' (laying them all to the sun of course!) and evenpretty women of our acquaintance in Rome come out with some twenty yearsadditional on their heads, to their great dissatisfaction. But my dearMr. Martin is my dear Mr. Martin still, unblacked, unchanged, as when Iknew him in the sun long ago, when suns were content to make funnyplaces, instead of drawing pictures! How good of dearest Mrs. Martin (itwas she, I think!) to send this to me! I wish she (or he) had sent mehers besides. (How grasping some of us are!) Then she sent me a short time since a book for my Peni, which he seizedon with blazing eyes and an exclamation, 'Oh, what fun!' A work by hisgreat author, Mayne Reid, who outshines all other authors, unless it'sRobinson Crusoe, who, of course, wrote his own life. It was so very verygood of you. Robert had repeatedly tried in Rome to buy a new volume ofMayne Reid for the child, and never could get one. Our drawback in Romerelates to books. We subscribe to a French library (not good) and snatchat accidental 'waifs, ' and then the newspapers (which I intrigue about, and get smuggled through the courteous hands of French generals) areabsorbing enough. I had a letter from George yesterday with good news of dearest Mrs. Martin. May it be true. But I can't understand whether you have spentthis winter in Devonshire or Worcestershire, or where. The thick gloomof it is over now, yet I find myself full of regrets. It's so hard tohave to get out into the workday world, daylight, open air and all, andthere's a duty on me to go to France, that Robert may see his father. You would pity me if you could see how I dread it. Arabel will meet me, and spend at least the summer with us, probably in the neighbourhood ofParis, and after just the first, we--even I--may be the happier. Don'ttell anyone that I feel so. I should like to go into a cave for theyear. Not that I haven't taken to work again, and to my old interests inpolitics. One doesn't quite rot in one's selfishness, after all. Infact, I think of myself as little as possible; it's the only way to bearlife, to throw oneself out of the personal. And my Italy goes on well in spite of some Neapolitan troubles, whichare exaggerated, I can certify to you. Rome, according to my informationas well as my instincts, approaches the crisis we desire. In respect toVenetia, we may (perhaps must) have a struggle for it, which might havebeen unnecessary if England had frankly accepted co-action with France, instead of doing a little liberalism and a great deal of suspicion onher own account. As it is, there's an impression in Europe thatconsiderations about the East (to say nothing of the Ionian Islands)will be stronger than Vattel, and forbid our throwing over our 'naturalally' for the sake of our 'natural enemy. ' I am sure you must have been anxious lately on account of America. Thereseems to be a good deal of weakness, even on the part of Lincoln, who, if he had not the means of defending Fort Sumter and maintaining theUnion, should not have spoken as he did. Not that it may not be as wellto let the Southern States secede. Perhaps better so. What I feared mostwas that the North would compromise; and I fear still that they are notheroically strong on their legs on the _moral question_. I fear it much. If they can but hold up it will be noble. We remain here (where we have had the mildest of winters) till somewhatlate in May, when we go to Florence for a week or two on our way toParis. You see my Emperor is 'crowning the edifice';[99] it is the beginning. Sir John Bowring says that the more liberty he can give, the better hewill like it. _He told Sir John so. _ Is it right and loyal meanwhile of Guizot and his party to oppose theEmpire by upholding the enemies of Italy? I ask you. Such things I hearfrom Paris! Guizot corrected Keller's speech with his own hand. May God bless you! Pen's love and gratitude. If Robert were here hewould be named. Love me and think of me a little. Your ever affectionate and gratefulBA. * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ [Rome]: May 11, 1861 (postmark). Your account of the dearest nonno was very pleasant on the whole, only, of course, you will be very careful with him. And then, dearestSarianna, you yourself have not been well. The grippe seems to have beenbitter against you. This is the time of year when it generally rages, and even Pen has had a small cough, which makes me austere about hours. In fact, the weather in the north has reverberated here, and we havepaid for our mild winter by a considerable lingering of cold wind, fromsnow on the mountains, they say. As for me, it's much to my disadvantagein getting air and strength. I hope you are quite well again, as is Pen, and that the loved nonno is as strong as he ever was. Do you get goodwine for him? The vintages are said to have suffered (which grieves mefor poor dear Milsand) from the frost. We hear of travellers insnowstorms through England, where the cold has been great, and that inParis, too, there has been snow. I do hope the opening summer will notcopy the last. Dearest Sarianna, try to find out if Fontainebleau is damp, because Iwas assured the other day that it was, besides being subject to intenseheats. Also, will you see if there is a completed railroad to Trouville?Robert denies that sea-air ever disagrees with him (sea-_bathing_ does), and it may be good for you and for Pen, to say nothing of Arabel, who iscoming in the course of the summer. The objection is the journey, but ifthe railroad is there, it would not prolong the journey (in relation toFontainebleau) more than two or three hours, if so much, would it? Weought to inquire a little beforehand. We shall get to you as early as wecan. The weather is against us everywhere. We shall cut Florence quiteshort. By the way, we have the satisfaction of seeing a precipitation ofthe Tuscan funds down, down, which only makes Robert wish for more powerof 'buying in, ' causing the eyes of a Florentine Frescobaldi to open inwonder at so much audacity. But Robert, generally so timid in suchthings, has caught a flush of my rashness, and is alarmed by neithersinking funds nor rising loans. We have a strong faith in Italy--_Italiafatta_--particularly since that grand child, Garibaldi, has turned goodagain. The troubles in the Neapolitan States are exaggerated, areperilous even so, and I dare say Milsand thinks we are all going topieces, but _we shall not_; there are great men here, and there will bea great nation presently. An Australian Englishman, very acute, and freefrom the political faults (as I see them) of England, did all he couldto prepare me for failure in Italy, 'to save my heart from breaking, ' ashe said. And we have had drawbacks since then, yet my hope remains asstrong. The Duchesse de Grammont (French Embassy) sent us a card forPenini--'matinée d'enfants'--and he went, and was rather proud of beingreceived under a full-length portrait of Napoleon, who is as dear asever to him. It was a very splendid affair, quite royal. Pen wore acrimson velvet blouse, and was presented to various small Italianprinces, Colonnas, Dorias, Piombinos, and had the honor of talkingponies and lessons and playing leap-frog with them. The ambassador's ownboy, the little Grammont, has a pony 'tale quale' like Pen's, onlysuperannuated rather, which gives us the advantage.... I wonder if he will confide to you his tender admiration for the youngqueen of Naples, whom, between you and me, he pursues, and receives inreturn ever so many smiles from that sad lovely face. When charged witha love affair, Pen answered gravely, that he 'did feel a kind of_interest_. ' He told us that two days since she stood up in her carriagethree times to smile at him. Something, it may be for the pony's sake;but also, Pen confessed, to an impression that his new jacket attracted!Fancy little Pen! Robert says she is very pretty, and for Pen (who makesit a point of conscience to consider the whole 'razza' of Bourbons andPapalini as 'questi infami _birboni_') to be so drawn, there must be acharm. After all, poor little creature, she acted heroically from herpoint of sight, and if the king had minded her, he would have madeliberal concessions _in time_ perhaps. The wretched queen-mother andherself were at daggers drawn from the beginning. I hear that Jessie Mario and her husband have been taken up at Ferrara. They were _only_ going to begin the war with Austria on their ownaccount. Mazzini deserves what I should be sorry to inflict. He is a manwithout conscience. And that's no reason why Jessie and her party shoulduse him for _theirs_. Mario is only the husband of his wife. Robert has brought me home a most perfect copy of a small torso ofVenus--from the Greek--in the clay. It is wonderfully done, say thelearned. He says 'all his happiness lies in clay now'; _that_ was hisspeech to me this morning. _Not_ a compliment, but said so sincerely andfervently, that I could not but sympathise and wish him a life-load ofclay to riot in. It's the mixture of physical and intellectual effortwhich makes the attraction, I imagine. Certainly he is very well andvery gay. I am happy to see that the 'North British Quarterly' has an article onhim. That gives hope for England. Thackeray has turned me out of the'Cornhill' for indecency, but did it so prettily and kindly that I, whoam forgiving, sent him another poem. He says that plain words permittedon Sundays must not be spoken on Mondays in England, and also that his'Magazine is for babes and sucklings. ' (I thought it was for thevolunteers. ) May God bless you, dearest Sarianna and nonno! Pen's love. * * * * * The incident alluded to in the last paragraph deserves fuller mention, for the credit it does to both parties concerned in it. The letters thatpassed between Thackeray and Mrs. Browning on the subject have beengiven by Mrs. Richmond Ritchie in the 'Cornhill Magazine' for July 1896, from which I am allowed to quote them. Mrs. Browning, in reply to arequest from Thackeray for contributions to the then newly established'Cornhill, ' had sent him, among other poems, 'Lord Walter's Wife, '[100]of which, though the moral is unimpeachable, the subject is notabsolutely _virginibus puerisque_. The editor, in this difficulty, wrotethe following admirable letter:-- * * * * * _W. M. Thackeray to Mrs. Browning. _ 36 Onslow Square: April 2, 1861. My dear, kind Mrs. Browning, --Has Browning ever had an aching toothwhich must come out (I don't say _Mrs. _ Browning, for women are muchmore courageous)--a tooth which must come out, and which he has kept formonths and months away from the dentist? I have had such a tooth a longtime, and have sate down in this chair, and never had the courage toundergo the pull. This tooth is an allegory (I mean _this_ one). It's your poem that yousent me months ago, and who am I to refuse the poems of ElizabethBrowning and set myself up as a judge over her? I can't tell you howoften I have been going to write and have failed. You see that ourMagazine is written not only for men and women but for boys, girls, infants, sucklings almost; and one of the best wives, mothers, women inthe world writes some verses which I feel certain would be objected toby many of our readers. Not that the writer is not pure, and the moralmost pure, chaste, and right, but there are things _my_ squeamish publicwill not hear on Monday, though on Sundays they listen to them withoutscruple. In your poem, you know, there is an account of unlawfulpassion, felt by a man for a woman, and though you write pure doctrine, and real modesty, and pure ethics, I am sure our readers would make anoutcry, and so I have not published this poem. To have to say no to my betters is one of the hardest duties I have, butI'm sure we must not publish your verses, and I go down on my kneesbefore cutting my victim's head off, and say, 'Madam, you know how Irespect and regard you, Browning's wife and Penini's mother; and forwhat I am going to do I most humbly ask your pardon. ' My girls send their very best regards and remembrances, and I am, dearMrs. Browning, Always yours, W. M. THACKERAY. * * * * * Mrs. Browning's answer follows. * * * * * _To W. M. Thackeray_ Rome, 126 Via Felice: April 21, [1861]. Dear Mr. Thackeray, --Pray consider the famous 'tooth' (a wise tooth!) asextracted under chloroform, and no pain suffered by anybody. To prove that I am not sulky, I send another contribution, which mayprove too much, perhaps--and, if you think so, dispose of thesupererogatory virtue by burning the manuscript, as I am sure I may relyon your having done with the last. I confess it, dear Mr. Thackeray, never was anyone turned out of a roomfor indecent behaviour in a more gracious and conciliatory manner! Also, I confess that from your 'Cornhill' standpoint (paterfamilias lookingon) you are probably right ten times over. From mine, however, I may notbe wrong, and I appeal to you as the deep man you are, whether it is notthe higher mood, which on Sunday bears with the 'plain word, ' sooffensive on Monday, during the cheating across the counter? I am not a'fast woman. ' I don't like coarse subjects, or the coarse treatment ofany subject. But I am deeply convinced that the corruption of oursociety requires not shut doors and windows, but light and air: and thatit is exactly because pure and prosperous women choose to _ignore_ vice, that miserable women suffer wrong by it everywhere. Has paterfamilias, with his Oriental traditions and veiled female faces, very successfullydealt with a certain class of evil? What if materfamilias, with herquick sure instincts and honest innocent eyes, do more towards theirexpulsion by simply looking at them and calling them by their names? Seewhat insolence you put me up to by your kind way of naming mydignities--'Browning's wife and Penini's mother. ' And I, being vain (turn some people out of a room and you don't humblethem properly), retort with--'materfamilias!' Our friend Mr. Story has just finished a really grand statue of the'African Sybil. ' It will place him very high. Where are you all, Annie, Minnie?--Why don't you come and see us inRome? My husband bids me give you his kind regards, and I shall send Pen'slove with mine to your dear girls. Most truly yours, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. We go to Florence in the latter part of May. * * * * * Before leaving Florence, however, the following letter was written toMr. Thackeray, which I quote from the same article by Mrs. Ritchie. Thepoem alluded to must, however, be 'The North and the South, '[101] Mrs. Browning's last poem, written with reference to Hans Andersen's visit toRome; not 'A Musical Instrument, ' as Mrs. Ritchie suggests, which hadbeen written some time previously. * * * * * _To W. M. Thackeray_ Rome, 126 Via Felice: [May 21, 1861]. Dear Mr. Thackeray, --I hope you received my note and last poem. I hopestill more earnestly that you won't think I am putting my spite againstyour chastening hand into a presumptuous and troublesome fluency. But Hans Christian Andersen is here, charming us all, and not least thechildren. So I wrote these verses--not for 'Cornhill' this month, ofcourse--though I send them now that they may lie over at your service(if you are so pleased) for some other month of the summer. We go to Florence on the first of June, and lo! here is the twenty-firstof May. With love to dear Annie and Minny, I remain, most truly yours, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ Rome: Saturday, [about May 1861]. Ever dearest Isa, --Now that Robert's letter is gone, I am able for shameto write. His waiting did not _mean_ a slackness of kindness, but atightness of entanglement in other things; and then absolutely he hasgot to the point of doing without reading. Nothing but clay does he carefor, poor lost soul. But you will see, I hope, from what he has written(to judge by what he speaks), that he is not so lost as to be untouchedby Agnes. [102]... I send you, dear, two more translations for Dall' Ongaro. You will havegiven him my former message. I began that letter to him, and wasinterrupted; and then, considering the shortness of our time here, wouldnot begin another. You will have explained, and will make him thoroughlyunderstand, that in sending him a verbal and literal translation I neverthought of exacting such a thing from _him_, but simply of letting himhave the advantage of seeing the _raw, naked poetry as it stands_. Infact, my translation is scarcely Italian, I know very well. I mean itfor English rather. Conventional and idiomatical Italian forms have beenexpressly avoided. I have used the Italian as a net to catch the Englishin for the use of an Italian poet! Let him understand. We shall be soon in our Florence now. I am rather stronger, but so weakstill that my eyes dazzle to think of it. Povera me! Tell Dall' Ongaro that his friend M. Carl Grün had enough of me in onevisit. He never came again, though I prayed him to come. I have not beenequal to receiving in the evening, and perhaps he expected aninvitation. I go to bed at eight on most nights. I'm the rag of a Ba. Yet I _am_ stronger, and look much so, it seems to me. Mr. Story is_doing_ Robert's bust, which is likely to be a success. [103] Hattybrought us a most charming design for a fountain for Lady Marion Alford. The imagination is unfolding its wings in Hatty. She is quite of a mindto spend the summer with you at Florence or elsewhere. The Storys talkof Switzerland.... Andersen (the Dane) came to see me yesterday--kissed my hand, and seemedin a general _verve_ for embracing. He is very earnest, very simple, very childlike. I like him. Pen says of him, 'He is not really pretty. He is rather like his own ugly duck, but his mind has _developed_ into aswan. ' That wasn't bad of Pen, was it? He gets on with his Latin too. And, Isa, he has fastened a half-franc to his button-hole, for the sake of thebeloved image, and no power on earth can persuade him out of being soridiculous. I was base enough to say that it wouldn't please the Queenof Spain! And he responded, he 'chose her to know that he _did_ loveNapoleon'! Isa, I send these two last poems that Dall' Ongaro may be aware of mysympathy's comprehending more sides than one of Italian experience. We have taken no apartment yet!!! * * * * * _To Miss Browning_ Florence: June 7, 1861 [postmark]. I can't let Robert's disagreeable letter go alone, dearest Sarianna, though my word will be as heavy as a stone at the bottom of it. I amdeeply sorry you should have had the vain hope of seeing Robert and Pen. As for me, I know my place; I am only good for a drag chain. But, dear, don't fancy it has been the fault of my _will_. In fact, I said almosttoo much at Rome to Robert, till he fancied I had set my selfwill ontossing myself up as a halfpenny, and coming down on the wrong side. Now, in fact, it was not at all (nearly) for Arabel that I wished to go, only I did really wish and do my best to go. He, on the other hand, before we left Rome, had made up his mind (helped by a stray physicianof mine, whom he met in the street) that it would be a great risk tocarry me north. He (Robert) always a little exaggerates the difficultiesof travelling, and there's no denying that I have less strength than isusual to me even at the present time. I touched the line of vexing him, with my resistance to the decision, but he is so convinced that reposeis necessary for me, and that the lions in the path will be all asleepby this time next year, that I yielded. Certainly he has a right tocommand me away from giving him unnecessary anxieties. What does vex meis that the dearest nonno should not see his Peni this year, and thatyou, dear, should be disappointed, _on my account again_. That's hard onus all. We came home into a cloud here. I can scarcely command voice orhand to name _Cavour_. [104] That great soul, which meditated and madeItaly, has gone to the Diviner country. If tears or blood could havesaved him to us, he should have had mine. I feel yet as if I couldscarcely comprehend the greatness of the vacancy. A hundred Garibaldisfor such a man. There is a hope that certain solutions had been preparedbetween him and the Emperor, and that events will slide into theirgrooves. May God save Italy! Dear M. Milsand had pleased me so by hisappreciation, but there _are_ great difficulties. The French press, tellhim, has, on the whole, done great service, except that part of it underthe influence of the ultramontane and dynastic opposition parties. Andas to exaggerated statements, it is hard, even here, to get at the truth(with regard to the state of the south), and many Italian liberals havehad hours of anxiety and even of despondency. English friends of ours, very candid and liberal, have gone to Naples full of hope, and returnedhoping nothing--yet they are wrong, unless this bitter loss makes themright-- Your loving BA-- Robert tears me away-- * * * * * With this letter the correspondence of Mrs. Browning, so far, at least, as it is extant or accessible, comes to an end. The journey to Paris hadbeen abandoned, but it does not appear that there was any cause toapprehend that her life could now be reckoned only by days. Yet so itwas. For the past three years, it is evident, her strength had beengiving way. Attacks of physical illness weakened her, without beingfollowed by any adequate rally; but more than all, the continuous stressand strain of mental anxiety wore her strength away. The war of 1859, the liberation of Sicily and Naples, the intense irritation of feelingin connection with English opinion of Louis Napoleon and his policy, thecontinual ebb and flow of rumours concerning Venetia and the PapalStates, the illness and death of her sister Henrietta--all these sourcesof anxiety told terribly on her sensitive, emotional mind, and therebyon her enfeebled body. The fragility of her appearance had always struckstrangers. So far back as 1851, Bayard Taylor remarked that 'her frameseemed to be altogether disproportionate to her soul. ' Her 'fiery soul'did, indeed, with a far more literal truth than can often be the case, fret her 'puny body to decay, and o'er-informed its tenement of clay. 'Her last illness--or, it may more truly be said, the last phase of thatillness which had been present with her for years--was neither long norsevere; but she had no more strength left to resist it. Shortly afterher return to Casa Guidi another bronchial attack developed itself, toall appearance just like many others that she had had before; but thistime there was no recovery. Of the last scene no other account need be asked or wished for thanthat given by Mr. Browning himself in a letter to Miss Haworth, datedJuly 20, 1861. [105] My dear Friend, --I well know you feel, as you say, for her once and forme now. Isa Blagden, perfect in all kindness to me, will have told yousomething, perhaps, and one day I shall see you and be able to tell youmyself as much as I can. The main comfort is that she suffered verylittle pain, none beside that ordinarily attending the simple attacks ofcold and cough she was subject to, had no presentiment of the resultwhatever, and was consequently spared the misery of knowing she wasabout to leave us: she was smilingly assuring me that she was 'better, ''quite comfortable, if I would but come to bed, ' to within a few minutesof the last. I think I foreboded evil at Rome, certainly from thebeginning of the week's illness, but when I reasoned about it, there wasno justifying fear. She said on the last evening 'It is merely the oldattack, not so severe a one as that of two years ago; there is no doubtI shall soon recover, ' and we talked over plans for the summer and nextyear. I sent the servants away and her maid to bed, so little reason fordisquietude did there seem. Through the night she slept heavily andbrokenly--that was the bad sign; but then she would sit up, take hermedicine, say unrepeatable things to me, and sleep again. At fouro'clock there were symptoms that alarmed me; I called the maid and sentfor the doctor. She smiled as I proposed to bathe her feet, 'Well, you_are_ determined to make an exaggerated case of it!' Then came what myheart will keep till I see her again and longer--the most perfectexpression of her love to me within my whole knowledge of her. Alwayssmilingly, happily, and with a face like a girl's, and in a few minutesshe died in my arms, her head on my cheek. These incidents so sustain methat I tell them to her beloved ones as their right: there was nolingering, nor acute pain, nor consciousness of separation, but Godtook her to Himself as you would lift a sleeping child from a darkuneasy bed into your arms and the light. Thank God! Annunziata thought, by her earnest ways with me, happy and smiling as they were, that shemust have been aware of our parting's approach, but she was quiteconscious, had words at command, and yet did not even speak of Peni, whowas in the next room. The last word was, when I asked, 'How do youfeel?' 'Beautiful. '... So ended on earth the most perfect example of wedded happiness in thehistory of literature--perfect in the inner life and perfect in itspoetical expression. It was on June 29, 1861, that Mrs. Browning died. She was buried at Florence, where her body rests in a sarcophagusdesigned by her friend and her husband's friend, Frederic Leighton, thefuture President of the Royal Academy. At a later date, when her husbandwas laid to rest in Westminster Abbey, her remains might have beentransferred to England, to lie with his among the great company ofEnglish poets in which they had earned their places. But it was thoughtbetter, on the whole, to leave them undisturbed in the land and in thecity which she had loved so well, and which had been her home so long. In life and in death she had been made welcome in Florence. TheItalians, as her husband said, seemed to have understood her by aninstinct; and upon the walls of Casa Guidi is a marble slab, placedthere by the municipality of Florence, and bearing an inscription fromthe pen of the Italian poet, Tommaséo:-- QUI SCRISSE E MORÌ ELISABETTA BARRETT BROWNING CHE IN CUORE DI DONNA CONCILIAVA SCIENZA DI DOTTO E SPIRITO DI POETA E FECE DEL SUO VERSO AUREO ANELLO FRA ITALIA E INGHILTERRA. PONE QUESTA LAPIDE FIRENZE GRATA 1861. It is with words adapted from this memorial that her husband, sevenyears later, closed his own great poem, praying that the 'ring, ' towhich he likens it, might but-- 'Lie outside thine, Lyric Love, Thy rare gold ring of verse (the poet praised), Linking our England to his Italy. ' FOOTNOTES: [77] This refers to the 'Curse for a Nation. ' [78] See note on p. 387. [Transcriber's note: Reference is to Footnote[87]. ] [79] Mrs. Jameson died on March 17, 1860. [80] The surrender to France of Savoy and Nice, which, though propoundedby Napoleon to Cavour before the war, was only definitely demanded atthe end of February 1860. [81] Rome, it will be remembered, was still under Papal government. [82] The French general appointed by the Pope in April, 1860, to commandthe Papal army. [83] The Italian poet. [84] So in the original, but probably a slip for 'goes abroad. ' [85] The _Cornhill Magazine_, the first number of which was published, under Thackeray's editorship, in December 1859. Mrs. Browning's poem, 'AMusical Instrument' (_Poetical Works_, v. 10), was published in thenumber for July 1860. [86] His 'Framley Parsonage' was then appearing in the _Cornhill_. [87] The championship trophy of the prize ring. The great fight betweenSayers and Heenan had just taken place (April 17, 1860), and hadengrossed the interest of all England, to say nothing of America. [88] It is not clear what this can be. Browning published nothingbetween 1855 ('Men and Women') and 1864 ('Dramatis Personæ'), and thereis no long poem in the latter, unless 'A Death in the Desert' and'Sludge the Medium' may be so described. The latter is not unlikely tohave been written now, when Home's performances were rampant. His nextreally long poem was 'The Ring and the Book, ' which certainly had notyet been begun. [89] A novel by Miss Blagden. [90] Garibaldi was now engaged in his Neapolitan campaign. Sicily(except Messina) had been cleared of the Neapolitan troops by the end ofJuly, and on August 19 Garibaldi had landed in Calabria. [91] Now in the National Portrait Gallery. A reproduction of it is givenas the frontispiece to vol. V. Of the _Poetical Works_. [92] 'A Musical Instrument'; see p. 377, above. [93] Gaeta, the last remaining stronghold of the Neapolitan Government, was besieged by the Italian forces from November to January. During thefirst two months of the siege the French fleet prevented the Italiansfrom operating against it by sea, and it was ultimately through theintervention of the English Government that Napoleon was persuaded towithdraw his ships. [94] Viterbo had declared for the Italian government, but had beenoccupied by French troops on behalf of the Pope. Many of the inhabitantsleft it, and a body of Italian volunteers entered the country in supportof them. It is presumably to this movement that the passage in the textrefers. [95] _Poetical Works_, v. 3. The poem evidently refers to the loss ofher brother Edward, but might be supposed (being published at thismoment) to refer to the death of her sister Henrietta, shortly afterwhich this letter was evidently written. [96] Gaeta fell on January 15, 1861. [97] Mr. Val Prinsep, R. A. [98] Mrs. Orr's _Life_ shows that this was only a temporary phase. Inlater life, especially, he was very regular in his hours of poeticalwork. [99] It is curious that these are the very words which (as a translationfrom the Greek) Robert Browning used ten years later as the motto of hisstudy of Louis Napoleon in 'Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau'; but the'crowning' was of a very different kind then. 'Attempting one more labour, in a trice, Alack, _with ills I crowned the edifice_. ' [100] _Poetical Works_, iv. 252. [101] _Poetical Works_, v. 6 [102] 'Agnes Tremorne, ' Miss Blagden's novel. [103] After Mrs. Browning's death, Mr. Story made a companion bust ofher, and both busts were subsequently executed in marble on thecommission of Mr. George Barrett, who presented them to Mr. R. BarrettBrowning, in whose possession they have since remained. [104] Cavour died on June 6, 1861. [105] Mrs. Orr's _Life and Letters of Robert Browning_, p. 249. INDEX Abd-el-Kader, i. 388 Aberdeen, Lord, ii. 109 About, E. , ii. 226 Æschylus, i. 118, 168, 210; Translation of his 'Prometheus Bound, ' i. 244 Agassiz, Miss, i. 458, 467, 468 Alexander, Sir William, i, 106 America, literary piracy in, i. 451; appreciation of Mrs. Browning's poetry, i. 118, 120, 131, 177, 178, 218, ii. 253, 364, 387; of Robert Browning, ii. 436; the slavery question, ii. 111, 411, 417, 419, 439 Anacreon, translation from, i. 263 Ancona, i. 381 Andersen, Hans Christian, ii. 446, 448 Andrea del Sarto, i. 121 Appleton, Mr. , ii. 133 Apuleius, translations from, i. 249, 250 Arnold, Dr. Thomas, i. 206, 207 Arnold, Matthew, i. 429 Arnould, Mr. , ii. 16 Arqua, ii. 9 'Athenæum, ' the, i. 37, 64, 69, 71, 91, 93, 95, 117, 120, 133, 180, 193, 207, 227, 256, 446, 469, ii. 171, 242, 243, 334, 366 'Atlas, ' the, i. 64, 69, 181, 194, 199, ii. 370 Austen, Jane, ii. 217 Austria, war with France and Italy, ii. 305 ff. Azeglio, Massimo d', ii. 308, 312, 389 Baillie, Joanna, i. 230 Balzac, H. De, i. 319, 363, 375, 428, 442, 462, ii. 71 Barnes, William, i. 223 Barrett, Alfred, brother of E. B. B. , i. 2, 20, 121, ii. 18; marriage, ii. 207 Barrett, Arabel, sister of E. B. B. , i. 2, 10, 19, 20, 39, 52, 70, 71, 76, 77, 81, 82, 124, 242, 270, 294, ii. 12, 18, 172, 180, 210, 235, 237, 264, 292 Barrett, Charles John ('Stormie'), brother of E. B. B. , i. 2, 29, 86, 121, 151, 152, 189, 242, 251 Barrett, Edward ('Bro'), brother of E. B. B. , i. 2, 11, 14, 29, 42, 47, 53, 55, 74, 76, 77; his death, 83 Barrett, Edward Moulton, father of E. B. B. , i. 1, 2, 11, 27, 76, 82, 86, 179, 291, 407, 435, 438, 439, ii. 18, 20, 178, 180, 237; death, 263 ff. Barrett, afterwards Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, birth, i. 1; childhood and youth at Hope End, 3-6; removal to Sidmouth, 10; to London (74 Gloucester Place), 31; failure of health, _ib. _; removal to 50 Wimpole Street, 56; publication of 'The Seraphim, ' _ib. _ 63; breaking of a blood-vessel, _ib. _; removal to Torquay, 74; death of her brother Edward, 83; return to London, 91; publication of the 'Poems' of 1844, 180-188, 193 ff. ; proposed journey to Italy in 1845, 266 ff. ; love and marriage, 280 ff. ; departure from England, _ib. _; at Pisa, 302 ff. ; Florence, 325; expedition to Vallombrosa, 332 ff. ; settlement at Casa Guidi, 365, 372; birth of a son, 395; her name suggested for the Laureateship, 449, 452; illness, 456, 458; travels, ii. 1 ff. ; publication of 'Casa Guidi Windows, ' 2; visit to England, 13 ff. ; residence in Paris, 22 ff. ; the _Coup d'état_ in France, 30 ff. ; second visit to London, 76; verses by, 81; return to Paris, 89; to Florence, 91; first visit to Rome, 146; severe illness, 202; visit to England, 205 ff. ; to Paris, 215 ff. ; last visit to England, 235 ff. ; publication of 'Aurora Leigh, ' 240; carnival in Florence, 256 ff. ; visit to Bagni di Lucca, 267 ff. ; last visit to France, 280 ff. ; winter in Rome, 292 ff. ; the war with Austria, 305 ff. ; summer at Siena, 319 ff. ; severe illness, 325; winter in Rome, 352 ff. ; publication of 'Poems before Congress, ' 363; last summer at Siena, 400; last winter in Rome, 408 ff. ; death, 450 ff. Portraits: by Reade, ii. 144; by Miss Fox, ii. 151; by Leighton, ii. 310; by Field Talfourd, ii. 404; bust by Story, ii. 448 _note_. Her knowledge of Greek literature, i. 101, 102, 242; opinions on religion, i. 115, 127, 159, 247, ii. 156, 420 ff. ; on Roman Catholicism, ii. 5; on versification, i. 140, 156, 183; on female poets, i. 229-233; on Greek scholarship, i. 260; on mesmerism, i. 255-259; on marriage, i. 339, ii. 72, 73, 222 ff. ; on communism, i. 363; on socialism, i. 467; protest against publication of juvenile performances, i. 454, 455, ii. 139; views on spiritualism, ii. 92, 104, 117, 125, 157 ff. (and see _s. V. _); on women's work and position, ii. 189, 254, 255; on poetry and the public, ii. 200; on slavery, ii. 220; on growing old, ii. 140; on death, ii. 177, 289, 291; on English self-satisfaction, ii. 351. Works: 'Aurora Leigh, ' ii. 91, 195, 205, 228, 229, 240 ff. , 302; 'Battle of Marathon, ' i. 3, 5; 'Bertha in the Lane, ' i. 247; 'Casa Guidi Windows, ' i. 348, ii. 1-3, 5, 7, 12, 13; 'Catarina to Camoens, ' ii. 200; 'Chaucer Modernised, ' i. 84, 88; 'Child's Death at Florence, ' i. 437; 'Crowned and Buried, ' i. 82, 161, 222; 'Cry of the Children, ' i. 153, 156; 'Cry of the Human, ' i. 120, 125; 'Curse for a Nation, ' ii. 364, 366, 378 ff. ; 'Dead Pan, ' i. 109, 127-131, 136, 177; 'De Profundis, ' ii. 414; 'Drama of Exile, ' i. 164, 168, 170, 171, 177, 181, 185, 186; 'English Poets, ' i. 97, 105-107; 'Essay on Mind, ' i. 4, 5, 70, 94, 187; 'Flush, ' i. 153; 'Greek Christian Poets, ' i. 96-105; 'Hector in the Garden, ' i. 123; 'House of Clouds, ' i. 89, 153, 462; 'The Island, ' i. 49; 'Isobel's Child, ' i. 73, 200; 'Lady Geraldine's Courtship, ' i. 177, 181, 199, 201, 204, 211; 'Lay of the Brown Rosary, ' i. 149, 150, 161; 'Lay of the Rose, ' i. 82; 'Lord Walter's Wife, ' ii. 443; 'Lost Bower, ' i. 124, 195, 200; 'A Musical Instrument, ' ii. 377, 406; 'My Doves, ' i. 461; 'New Spirit of the Age, ' i. 163; 'North and the South, ' ii. 446; 'Poems, ' of 1844, i. 164, 165, 180; 'Poems, ' collected edition, i. 427, 436; 'Poems before Congress, ' ii. 356, 361, 362, 363 ff. , 368, 374, 399; 'Poet's Vow, ' i. 36-39, 43, 49; 'A Portrait, ' i. 190; 'Prometheus Bound, ' i. 16, 18, 21, 135, 188; 'Psyché Apocalypté, ' i. 84; 'Rhyme of the Duchess May, ' i. 186, 247; 'Romance of the Ganges, ' i. 52; 'Romaunt of Margret, ' i. 36, 49, 64; 'Romaunt of the Page, ' i. 61, 62; 'Runaway Slave, ' i. 315, 462; 'Seamew, ' i. 38, 461; 'The Seraphim, ' i. 38, 39, 44, 45, 49, 56, 62-73, 110, 185, 188, 193; 'Song for the Ragged Schools, ' ii. 185; 'Sonnets from the Portuguese, ' i. 316, 317; 'Sounds, ' i. 73; 'Stanzas on Mrs. Hemans, ' i. 33; 'Tale of Villafranca, ' ii. 333 ff. ; 'Vision of Poets, ' i. 157; 'Wine of Cyprus, ' i. 178, 183 Barrett, George, brother of E. B. B. , i. 2, 29, 32, 33, 35, 37, 78, 151, 166, 242, ii. 19, 263, 264 Barrett, afterwards Cook, Henrietta, sister of E. B. B. , i. 2, 15, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 28, 33, 41, 46, 52, 53, 55, 75, 76, 77, 242, 294, 338, 443 ff. , ii. 18, 207, 210, 239, 376, 400; illness and death, ii. 401, 405, 414 ff. Barrett, Henry, brother of E. B. B. , i. 2, 27, 55, 189, 242, ii. 18 Barrett, Octavius, brother of E. B. B. , i. 2, 8, 15, 20, 173, 271, 275, ii. 18 Barrett, Septimus ('Sette'), brother of E. B. B. , i. 2, 11, 14, 20, ii. 18 Bate, Miss Gerardine (Mrs. Macpherson), i. 285, 310 Bayley, Miss, i. 262, 362, ii. 232, 233, 240 Bellosguardo, ii. 125, 259 Béranger, ii. 49, 230, 231 'Blackwood's Magazine, ' i. 181, 210, 213, ii. 253, 255, 387; poems by Mrs. Browning in, i. 304, 307, 314 Blagden, Miss Isa, i. 456, ii. 266, 267; letters to, i. 456, 467, ii. 3, 98, 124, 144, 243, 283, 290, 302, 308, 320, 339, 365, 371, 373, 375, 389, 411, 414, 418, 428, 431, 447 Bowring, Sir John, ii. 410, 412, 440 Boyd, Hugh Stuart, i. 9, 17, 20; death, i. 368; letters to, i. 23, 24, 29, 32, 37, 38, 39, 44, 45, 57, 60, 61, 68, 69, 70, 72, 73, 77, 79, 81, 88, 89, 91, 93, 95-107, 109, 114-120, 124, 125, 138-142, 152, 154, 171, 173, 175, 176, 179, 183, 184, 192, 200, 225, 242, 246, 250, 264, 270, 279, 314, 330 Boyd, Mrs. H. S. , letter to, i. 8; death, i. 29 Boyle, Miss, i. 347, 352 Bracken, Miss A. , ii. 267, 271 Braun, Dr. , ii. 195 Braun, Mdme. , _see_ Thomson Brizieux, Auguste, ii. 101 Brontë, Charlotte, her 'Jane Eyre, ' i. 360, 384, 432, 435; 'Shirley, ' i. 429, 430, 442; 'Villette, ' ii. 139, 142 Brotherton, Mrs. , medium, ii. 157 Browning, Miss, ii. 121; letters to i. 321, 369, 396, 397, 402, 408, 432, 477, ii. 93, 142, 161, 167, 179, 202, 239, 241, 250, 256, 267, 268, 294, 295, 297, 307, 310, 313, 317, 319, 341, 352, 368, 396, 433, 440, 448 Browning, Mrs. , senior, her death, i. 396 ff. Browning, R. , senior, ii. 162, 314 Browning, Robert, i. 2, 5, 84, 104, 131, 133, 143, 150, 161, 163, 214, 236, 238, 246, 254, 275, 278 and _passim_ thereafter; letters from, i. 334, 356, 379, 417, 423, 470, ii. 263, 267, 295, 302, 450; portrait, by Reade, ii. 143; by Fisher, ii. 160, 163; by Page, ii. 171, 233, 316; by Leighton, ii. 310; bust by Story, ii. 448; early engraving, i. 335; American appreciation of his work, ii. 436; want of appreciation in England, ii. 370. Works: 'Bells and Pomegranates, ' i. 320; 'A Blot in the 'Scutcheon, ' i. 391, 393; 'Christmas Eve and Easter Day, ' i. 427, 432, 446, 449; 'Colombe's Birthday, ' i. 264, ii. 91, 103, 112, 115, 116, 119; 'A Guardian Angel, ' i. 380; 'In a Balcony, ' ii. 121; Introduction to Shelley's 'Letters, ' ii. 52; 'Men and Women, ' ii. 205, 209, 218; 'Pippa Passes, ' i. 264; 'Poems, ' new edition, 1849, i. 361, 391; 'Sordello, ' i. 264, ii. 228; 'Strafford, ' ii. 436 Browning, Robert Wiedeman Barrett ('Penini'), i. 5, 395, and _passim_ thereafter Brunnyng, Robert, i. 371 Bulwer, Edward Lytton, afterwards first Lord Lytton, i. 16, 17, 36, 212, ii. 103, 145, 207 Burges, George, i. 102, 168 Byron, Lord, his poetry, i. 113, 115 Calvinism, thoughts on, i. 115 Carlyle, Thomas, i. 99, 136, 194, 199. 315, 338, ii. 16, 25, 27, 210 Carlyle, Mrs. , ii. 78 Cartwright, W. C. , ii. 346 Casa Guidi, i. 365, 372 Castellani, ii. 354 Cavour, ii. 360, 384; death, ii. 449 Chalmers, Dr. , i. 53 Chambers, Dr. , i. 57, 61, 68, 69, 71, 72, 269 Chasles, M. Philaret, ii. 43 Chaucer, Geoffrey, i. 128 Chorley, H. F. , i. 71, 180, 187, 207, 307, 311, 320, 453-455, ii. 137, 173, 183; his 'Pomfret, ' i. 271; 'Roccabella, ' ii. 350; letters to, i. 191, 229, 230, 234, 255, 257, 271, 375, 393, 420, 432, 446, ii. 79, 127, 334, 350, 378, 380 Clive, Mrs. Archer, ii. 154 Clough, A. H. , i. 426, 429 Cobbe, Miss, ii. 377, 398 Cobden, R. , i. 223, 327, ii. 356, 387 Cocks, Lady Margaret, i. 43 Coleridge, S. T. , i. 110, 141 Coleridge, Mrs. , i. 145 Commeline, Miss, letters to, i. 7, 26, 53, 240 Como, ii. 9 Cook, Surtees, i. 338, 443 Cook, Mrs. Surtees, _see_ Barrett, Henrietta 'Cornhill Magazine, ' ii. 377, 423, 443 ff. Corn Law League, i. 220, 223, 239, 240 Correggio, ii. 9 Crimea, war in the, ii. 179, 181, 183, 186, 189, 203 Crosse, Andrew, i. 72 Crystal Palace, the, ii. 24 Cumming, Dr. , ii. 194 Cushman, Miss, i. 320, ii. 90, 128 Cyprus, wine of, i, 175, 179, 248, 250, 315 Dacre, Lady, i. 51, 68, 72 'Daily News, ' the, i. 275 Dall' Ongaro, ii. 374, 375, 430, 447 Da Vinci, Leonardo, ii. 9 Dawson, Mr. , ii. 429 De Quincey, i. 161 Dickens, Charles, i. 121, 123, 275, ii. 32, 229, 395 Dilke, C. W. , editor of the 'Athenæum, ' i. 97, 107, 117, 134, 228, 446 Disraeli, Benjamin, his 'Coningsby, ' i. 203, 205 Dryden, John, i. 107, 110 'Dublin Review, ' the, i. 242 Dumas, Alexandre, i. 2, 319, 357, 419, 425, 462, ii. 40, 64, 86, 99, 182; his 'Monte Cristo, ' ii. 301, 304 Dumas, A. , fils, 'La Dame aux Camélias, ' ii. 66, 106 Eagles, Mr. , i. 201, 211 Eastlake, Lady, ii. 27 Eckley, Mrs. , ii. 150, 296, 298 Elgin, Lady, ii. 24, 26, 221, 286, 290, 368 Eliot, George, ii. 338, 388, 400 England, politics in, ii. 278, 316 'Essays and Reviews, ' ii. 427 Eugénie, Empress, ii. 101 'Examiner, ' the, i. 64, 70, 180, 199, 204 Exhibition of 1851, the, i. 466 Fano, i. 380 Fanshawe, Miss, i. 464 Faraday, Professor, on spiritualism, ii. 122 ff. , 128, 247 Faucit, Helen (Lady Martin), ii. 103, 119 Fauveau, Mdlle. De, i. 360, 378 Ferdinando IV. , Duke of Tuscany, ii. 340 Ferucci, Professor, i. 303 'Finden's Tableaux, ' i. 52, 61 Fisher, A. , artist, ii. 160, 163 Flaubert, G. , 'Madame Bovary, ' ii. 151, 304 Florence, i. 326, 331, 343, ii. 96; the Tuscan National Guard, i. 344, 346; revolutions, i. 400 ff. , 405 Flush, Miss Barrett's dog, i. 100, 105, 107, 149, 154, 155, 207, 224, 298, 307, 324, 342, 346, 357, 382 Forster, John, i. 180, 204, 329, ii. 16, 186, 286; letter to, ii. 383 Fox, Miss, ii. 151 France, the _Coup d'état_, ii. 32 ff. ; politics in, i. 363, 368, 374, 383, 386, 389, 400, ii. 42, 48, 61, 70, 230; war with Austria, 305 ff. Fuller, Margaret (Mme. Ossoli), i. 428, 445; death, i. 459 ff. ; her character, ii. 59 Gaeta, siege of, ii. 413, 418 Garibaldi, Giuseppe, ii. 318, 338, 398, 402, 416, 441 Gaskell, Mrs. , ii. 259; her 'Mary Barton, ' i. 471, 472; 'Ruth, ' ii. 139, 141 Genoa, ii. 94, 95 Ghirlandaio, i. 448 Gibson, J. , artist, ii. 148 Girardin, Emile de, ii. 30, 38 Goethe, i. 474 Graham-Clarke (afterwards Barrett), Mary, mother of E. B. B. , i. 2, 6, 7 Gregory Nazianzen, i. 45, 92, 94, 97, 98, 100, 104, 146; his 'De Virginitate, ' i. 78, 92 Gresonowsky, Dr. , ii. 321, 326, 341, 355 'Guardian, ' the, ii. 13 Guercino, i. 380, 441 Hanford, Mrs. , i. 33, 87 Harding, Dr. , i. 401, 458, 462, ii. 183 Havre, ii. 287 ff. Haworth, Miss E. F. , i. 322, ii. 21, 242; letters to, ii. 21, 118, 135, 149, 222, 234, 266, 272, 273, 281, 285, 322, 348, 354, 386, 393, 405, 408, 420, 424, 450 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, ii. 132, 304, 307, 310 Haydon, B. R. , i. 146; his portrait of Wordsworth, i. 112; suicide, i. 278, 279; biography, ii. 161 Hazard, Mr. , ii. 355 Heaton, Miss, ii. 150, 151 Hedley, Mr. , i. 359 Hemans, Mrs. , i. 232, 234 Hesiod, translations from, i. 262 Hillard, Mr. , i. 378 Homer, i. 118, 125 Hook, Theodore, i. 44, 161, 253 Hope End, home of Mrs. Browning, i. 3 Horne, R. II. , i. 3, 5, 36, 74, 78, 80, 81, 84, 85, 104, 133, 153, 174, 182, 199, 214, 308, 339, 345, 353, 368, 431, 452, ii. 31; his 'Orion, ' i. 145, 148, 150; 'The New Spirit of the Age, ' i. 163 Hosmer, Miss, ii. 166, 168, 344, 388, 392 Howe, Mrs. , ii. 166, 170 Howitt, Mary, i. 320 Howitt, William, i. 216, ii. 403, 406 Hugo, Victor, i. 123, ii. 90, 230, 260-262 Hume (_al. _ Home), spiritualistic medium, ii. 196, 201, 226, 266, 280 Hunt, Leigh, i. 84, 216, 452, ii. 253 Italian Literature, i. 309, 312 Italy, politics in, i. 348, 357, 359, 373, 383, 386, 388, 400, 409, 416, 439, ii. 96, 114, 311, 326 ff. , 340, 346, 361, 367, 372, 382, 389, 402, 413 Jameson, Mrs. , i. 104, 194, 199, 216, 217, 226, 238, 239, 284, 285, 296, 298, 299, 301, 307, 326, 327, ii. 16, 196; her 'Legends of the Monastic Orders, ' i. 440; death, ii. 365; letters to, i. 227, 273, 328, 354 376, 414, 421, 440, 448, ii. 32, 57, 65, 80, 107, 109, 146, 187, 208, 220, 227, 228, 232, 236, 245, 251, 258, 269, 270, 345, 360, 364 Jerrold, Douglas, i. 203, 239 Jewsbury, Miss, i. 465, ii. 27 John Mauropus, i. 103 John of Damascus, i. 97 John of Euchaita, i. 104 Keats, John, i. 188 Kemble, Fanny (Mrs. Butler), i. 466, ii. 16, 154, 158, 159, 167, 196 Kenyon, John, i. 2, 32, 51, 58, 67, 68, 102, 104, 112, 121, 153, 166, 172, 173, 202, 203, 205, 233, 265, 288, 290, 295, 297, 308, 310, 311, 353, 375, 420, 426, ii. 16, 77, 87, 197, 223, 224, 232, 233, 235, 238, 239; death, ii. 241, 245; legacy to Mr. And Mrs. Browning, ii. 241, 246, 248; letters to, i. 58, 59, 108, 127, 129, 136, 143, 145, 167-169, 187, 203, 207, 209, 211, 223, 239, 245, 248, 249, 361, ii. 7, 52, 89, 95, 115 Kinglake, A. W. , ii. 186, 210, 429; his 'E[=o]then, ' i. 216 Kingsley, Charles, ii. 83, 85, 86, 134 Kinney, Mr. W. B. , ii. 126 Kinney, Mrs. W. B. , letter to, ii. 244 Kirkup, Mr. , i. 440, 448, ii. 253, 395 Knowles, Sheridan, i. 43, 47, 48 Kossuth, ii. 115 Lamartine, i. 375, 425, ii. 30, 57, 64, 71, 133 Lamoricière, General, ii. 368, 372, 377, 393 Landon, L. E. , i. 232 Landor, Walter Savage, i. 43, 47, 55, 117, 137, ii. 78, 186, 286, 323, 324, 336, 343, 349, 353, 395, 397, 403; verses to Robert Browning, i. 275 Langland, W. (Piers Plowman), i. 105 Leighton, Frederic, ii. 197, 210, 233, 452 Lever, Charles, i. 413, 417, 465, 473 Lockhart, J. G. , ii. 154, 159, 163 London, residence of the Barretts in, i. 31-56 (74 Gloucester Place), 56-74, 91-279 (50 Wimpole Street) Longfellow, H. W. , i. 454 Louis Philippe, King of the French, i. 203, 206 Lowell, J. R. , i. 251 Lucca, Bagni di, ii. 121 ff. , 267 ff. , 411 ff. Lucerne, ii. 10 Luther, ii. 426 Lynch, Miss, ii. 144 Lytton, Sir Edward, _see_ Bulwer Lytton, Robert, ii. 97, 99, 103, 113, 125, 126, 142, 145; illness, ii. 267 ff. Macauley, T. B. , i. 209, 408 Maclise, D. , i. 119 Macpherson, James, and Ossian, i. 118, 126 Macready, W. , ii. 229, 393 MacSwiney, Mr. , i. 9, 73 Mahony, F. , _see_ Prout Manning, Dr. (afterwards Cardinal), ii. 410 Mario, Jessie (_née_ White), ii. 277, 321, 338, 347, 442 Marlowe, Christopher, i. 107 Marsh, Mr. , American Minister at Constantinople, ii. 102, 105 Martin, James, letters to, i. 122, 219. (_See also_ Martin, Mrs. , letters to) Martin, Mrs. James, letters to, i. 6, 10, 13, 16, 18, 21, 27, 33, 41, 46, 50, 75, 85, 86, 110, 120, 137, 143, 147, 165, 189, 193, 196, 202, 205, 215, 216, 221, 236, 237, 251, 266, 267, 274, 276, 277, 286, 300, 325, 335, 371, 387, 404, 437, 475, ii. 13, 17, 19, 34, 41, 74, 83, 113, 140, 180, 184, 192, 211, 212, 225, 236, 248, 254, 263, 264, 277, 324, 357, 400, 415, 438 Martineau, Harriet, i. 59, 151, 161, 169, 194, 196, 199, 200, 202, 205, 212, 217, 219, 220, 225, 227, 256, 276, 352, 355, 387, ii. 403 Mathew, Mrs. , i. 25 Mathews, Cornelius, letters to, i. 132, 198, 213 Maurice, F. D. , ii. 177 Maynooth, the grant question, i. 252 Mazzini, G. , ii. 78, 109, 115, 277, 279 Mesmerism, i. 196, 200, 202, 205, 212, 217, 219, 220, 236, 238, 255-259 'Metropolitan Magazine, ' the, i. 243, 245, 248 Milan, ii. 9 Mill, John Stuart, i. 467 Milnes, Monckton, i. 217, 308, ii. 79, 84, 134, 230, 376 Milsand, M. Joseph, ii. 29, 43, 108, 173, 242, 250, 275, 284, 314, 399, 449 Mitford, Miss M. R. , i. 32, 43, 46, 47, 50, 51, 52, 55, 66, 78, 83, 104, 108, 111, 131, 137, 153, 154, 161, 167, 205, 220, ii. 12; death, ii. 191; character and genius, ii. 216, 217; her 'Otto, ' i. 47, 48; 'Recollections, ' i. 453, 464, ii. 43, 45 ff. , 58, 60; 'Atherton, ' ii. 165, 171, 173, 175; dramas, ii. 175; letters to, i. 67, 297, 304, 311, 318, 339, 345, 349, 356, 358, 365, 373, 379, 384, 399, 410, 423, 427, 430, 434, 443, 450, 453, 458, 463, 470, ii. 5, 25, 28, 38, 45, 49, 62, 69, 76, 77, 84, 87, 100, 105, 122, 132, 152, 159, 164, 169, 171, 174, 176 Mohl, Mme. , ii. 24, 42, 66, 221 Montgomery, Robert, i. 265 Moore, Thomas, ii. 102, 141 Mulock, Miss, letters to, ii. 44, 67, 72; ii. 79 Murray, Miss, i. 253 Musset, Alfred de, ii. 64, 100 Napoleon, Louis (Napoleon III. ), i. 375, 386, 389, 400, 406, 419, 428, 429, ii. 22, 30, 33 ff. , 51, 54, 90, 110, 114, 181, 219, 230, 276, 306, 307, 309, 317, 323, 326, 327, 331, 335, 339, 373, 383 ff. , 393, 413, 429, 433, 440; letter to, ii. 261 Napoleon, Prince, ii. 437 Napoleon Buonaparte (Napoleon I. ), i. 82 Newman, J. H. , i. 210 'New Monthly Magazine, ' i. 36, 37, 40, 44, 49 'New Quarterly, ' the, i. 229 Nightingale, Florence, ii. 188 Nonnus, translations from, i. 261 'North American Review, ' i. 109 Novara, battle of, i. 409 O'Connell, Daniel, i. 50, 195 Ogilvy, Mr. And Mrs. , i. 440, 445, ii. 4 Orsay, Count d', i. 222 Orsini, his attempt on Napoleon III. , ii. 276 ff. Ossian, i. 117-120, 125, 126 Ossoli, Mme. , _see_ Fuller Padua, ii. 9 Page, W. , artist, ii. 128, 148, 155, 171, 307, 315, 388 Pantaleonie, Diomed, ii. 389, 432 Paris, i. 299, ii. 11, 23, 65, 281, 284, 285 Parker, Theodore, ii. 355, 388 Patmore, Coventry, ii. 112, 134, 138, 184, 255 Paulus Silentiarius, i. 103, 104 Petrarch, ii. 9 Phelps, S. , i. 391, 393 Phillpotts, Henry, Bishop of Exeter, i. 50, 74 Pisa, i. 302, 330 Pisida, George, i. 103 Pius IX. , Pope, i. 344, 391, 392, 420 Plato, i. 101, 119, 170 Poe, E. A. , i. 249 Pope, Alexander, i. 107 Powers, Hiram, sculptor, i. 334, 347, 378, ii. 97, 120, 131 Procter, Mr. (Barry Cornwall), ii. 16 Prout, Father, i. 355, 385, 392, ii. 286 'Punch, ' i. 203 'Quarterly Review, ' i. 65 Quinet, Edgar, ii. 101 Ravenna, i. 381 Reade, Charles, ii. 271, 357 Reynolds, Mrs. , i. 351 Ristori, Mme. , ii. 228 Rogers, Samuel, i. 190, 221, 222, ii. 16 Romagnoli, Ferdinando, ii. 208, 251 Rome, ii. 154, 165, 352 ff. Rossi, Count Pellegrino, i. 392 Rousseau, J. J. , ii. 293 Ruskin, John, i. 384, 386, ii. 87, 169, 170, 210, 253, 268, 414; letters to, ii. 190, 198, 214, 216, 299, 302, 315 Russell, Lord John, ii. 109 Russell, Odo, ii. 309, 332, 339, 359, 376 Ste. -Beuve, C. A. , ii. 101 Salvini, ii. 319 Sand, George, i. 233, 357, 363, 425, 428, ii. 26, 29, 39, 50, 51, 55-57, 59, 60, 63, 66, 70, 76, 222, 230 Sardinia, war with Austria, i. 374, 409 Sartoris, Mrs. (Adelaide Kemble), ii. 154, 159, 167, 179, 182 'Saturday Review, ' ii. 365, 375, 387, 403 Sayers, Tom, ii. 365, 387, 400 Scott, Sir Walter, i. 126 Scully, Dr. , i. 76, 86, 87, 90, 111 Seward, Anna, i. 231 Sewell, Miss, ii. 429, 430 Sidmouth, residence of the Barretts at, i. 10-30 Siena, i. 456 ff. , ii. 319 ff. , 342 Sigourney, Mrs. , i. 251 Slavery, abolition of, in West Indies, i. 21, 23 Smith, Alexander, ii. 112, 120, 134, 138, 161 Soulié, Frédéric, i. 387, 466; his 'Saturnin Fichet, ' i. 318 Southey, Mrs. , i. 138 Southey, Robert, i. 170 Spiritualism, ii. 92, 99, 102, 117, 120, 121, 122, 125, 133, 137, 149, 157, 158, 193, 247, 356, 395, 421 ff. Stanhope, Lord, ii. 79 Story, Mr. And Mrs. W. W. , ii. 130, 132, 143, 294, 334, 411, 446; death of their child, ii. 147, 152 Stowe, Mrs. Beecher, ii. 107, 110, 183, 258, 408, 409, 421, 424 Stuart, Mr. , i. 416, 422, 441, 448 Sue, Eugène, ii. 31, 40, 41 Sumner, Charles, ii. 286 Swedenborg, ii. 21, 145, 156, 424 Synesius, i. 96, 100, 104 Talfourd, Serjeant, i. 133, 197, 393, ii. 31; his 'Ion, ' i. 43, 47, 48 Tennyson, Alfred, i. 84, 150, 157, 160, 161, 215, 264, 324, 339, 345, 434, 456, ii. 15, 84, 86, 88, 205, 213, 419; his 'Poems, ' of 1842, i. 108, 109; 'Locksley Hall, ' i. 204; 'The Princess, ' i. 361, 367, 429, 431; 'In Memoriam, ' i. 453, 465, 471, 472; 'Maud, ' ii. 209, 213 Tennyson, Frederick, ii. 99, 112, 113, 123, 125, 126 Terni, ii. 152, 295, 296 Teynham, Lord, i. 243 Thackeray, W. M. , ii. 148, 154, 253, 377, 391, 408; his 'Vanity Fair, ' i. 401; letters from, ii. 444, 446; letter to, ii. 445 Thierry, M. , ii. 75 Thiers, M. , ii. 33 Thomson, Miss (Mme. Braun) i. 58, 431; letters to, i. 260, 261, ii. 195, 288 'Times, ' the, ii. 279, 317, 319, 329 Tommaséo, N. , inscription in honour of Mrs. Browning, ii. 452 Torquay, Miss Barrett's residence at, i. 74-90 Trollope, Anthony, ii. 377, 391 Trollope, Mrs. , i. 17, 476, ii. 173, 177, 226 Tyndal, Mrs. Acton, i. 351 Vallombrosa, i. 332 ff. Vaucluse, i. 285, 323 Venice, ii. 6, 8 Ventnor, ii. 236, 239 Viardot, Mme. , ii. 75, 76 Victoria, Queen, i. 222, 253 Villafranca, conference of, ii. 319, 320, 323, 324, 330 Wales, H. R. H. The Prince of, ii. 309, 312 Ware, Mr. , i. 378 Webbe, General W. , i. 451 Wellington, Duke of, ii. 163 'Westminster Review, ' the, i. 194, 199, 215 Westwood, Thomas, i. 94, 473; letters to, i. 94, 114, 149, 150, 157. 159, 160, 162, 174, 175, 185, 190, 224, 244, 253, 264, 323, 342, 468, ii. 138, 155 Wetherell, Elizabeth, her 'Queechy, ' ii. 134 Wilde, Mr. , ii. 344 Wilson, Mrs. Browning's maid, i. 283, 319, &c. Wiseman, Mrs. , i. 380 Wordsworth, William, i. 43, 47, 55, 60, 84, 160, 161, 252, 253, 267; death, i. 449; letter from, i. 113; his poetry, i. 110, 113, 119, 138, 141, 201; his portrait by Haydon, i. 112, 113; Miss Barrett's sonnet on it, i. 113 PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. , NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON