I must go to my Peni. I am almost happy about him now. And yet--oh, his lovely rosy cheeks, his round fat little shoulders, his strength and spring of a month ago!--at the best, we must lose our joy and pride in these for a time. May G.o.d bless you! I know you will feel for me, and that makes me so egotistical.
Your ever affectionate BA.
_To Miss Browning_
[Florence: February 1858.]
My dearest Sarianna,--Robert is going to write to dear M. Milsand, whose goodness is "pa.s.sing that of men," of all common friends certainly.
Robert"s thanks are worth more than mine, and so I shall leave it to Robert to thank him.
The "grippe" has gripped us here most universally, and no wonder, considering our most exceptional weather; and better the grippe than the fever 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 the first time since "47, has had a slice or two of ice on it. Robert has suffered from the prevailing malady, which did not however, through the precautions we took, touch his throat or chest, amounting only to a bad cold in the head. Peni was afflicted in the same way but in a much slighter degree, and both are now quite well. As for me I have caught no cold--only losing my breath and my soul in the usual way, the cough not being much. So that we have no claim, any of us, on your compa.s.sion, you see....
I think, I think Miss Blackwell has succeeded in frightening you a little. In the case of _chaos_, she will fly to England, I suppose; and even there she may fall on a refugee plot; for I have seen a letter of Mazzini"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 in Paris would be followed by confusion in Italy and everywhere on the Continent at least, so I should never think of running away, let what might happen. In "52 and "53, when we were in Paris, there was more danger than _could_ arise now, under a successful plot even; for, even if the Emperor fell, the people and the army seem prepared to stand by the dynasty. Also, public order has attained to some of the force of an habitual thing.
As to the crime,[57] it has no more sympathy here than in France--be sure of that. That unscrupulous bad party is repudiated by this majority--by this people as a ma.s.s. I hear nothing but lamentations that Italians should be dishonored so by their own hands. Father Prout says that the Emperor"s speech is "the most heroic doc.u.ment of this century," and in my mind the praise is merited. So indignant I feel with Mazzini and all who name his name and walk in his steps, that I couldn"t find it in my heart to write (as I was going to do) to that poor bewitched Jessie on her marriage. Really, when I looked at the pen, I _couldn"t move it_....
Best love from BA.
_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 me categorically....
And you are not very strong, even now? That grieves me. But here is the sun to make us all strong. For my part, my chest has not been particularly wrong this winter, nor my cough too troublesome. But the weight of the whole year heavy with various kinds of trouble, added to a trying winter, seems to have stamped out of me the vital fluid, and I am physically low, to a degree which makes me glad of renewed opportunities of 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 but dream and read French and German romances; and the result (of learning a good deal of German) isn"t the most useful thing in the world one can attain to. Then, of course, I teach Peni for an hour or so. He reads German, French, and, of course, Italian, and plays on the piano remarkably well, for which Robert deserves the chief credit. A very gentle, sweet child he is; sweet to look at and listen to; affectionate and good to live with, a real "treasure" so far. His pa.s.sion is music; and as we are afraid of wearing his brain, we let him give most of his study-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 conspiracy question?[58] No, indeed. I would rather we had lost ten battles than stultified ourselves in the House of Commons with Brummagem brag and Derby intrigues before the eyes of Europe and America. It seems to me utterly pitiful. I hold that the most susceptible of nations should not reasonably have been irritated by the Walewski despatch, which was absolutely true in its statement of facts. Ah, dearest friend, _how_ true I know better than you do; for I know of knowledge how this doctrine of a.s.sa.s.sination is held by chief refugees and communicated to their disciples in England--yes, to n.o.ble hearts, and to English hands still innocent--my very soul has bled over these things. With my own ears I have heard them justified. For nights I have been disturbed in my sleep 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 if such things can be put down, I hold they should be put down; and that the Conspiracy Bill is the smallest and lightest step that can be taken towards the putting down. For the rest, the great Derby intrigue, as shown in its acts, and as resulting in its State papers, nothing in history, 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 eyes as I read it. So grand, so calm, so simply true!
And now with regard to Switzerland. You must remember that there is such a thing as an international law, and that only last year the Swiss appealed in virtue of it to France about the Neufchatel refugees, and that France received and acted on that appeal. The very translation of the 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 no conscience. "The Times" is the most immoral of journals, as well as the most able. "The Times," on this very question of the Conspiracy Bill, has swerved, and veered, and dodged, till its readers may well be dizzy if they read every paragraph every day.
See how I fall into a fury. "Oh, Liberty! I would cry, like the woman who did not love liberty more than I do--"Oh, Liberty, what deeds are done 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 of unscrupulous 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 of him. Unfortunate man. He died better than he lived--it is all one can say. Surely you admit that the permission to read that letter on the trial was large-hearted. And it has vexed Austria to the last degree, I am happy to say. It was not allowed to be read here, by the Italian public, 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; and in the meantime would rather not be pulled and pulled by kind people in England, who want me or fancy they do. You know everybody is as free as I am now, and freer; and if they do want me, and it isn"t fancy--never mind! We may see you perhaps, in Paris, after all, this summer....
Now let me tell you. Hume, my _protege_ prophet, is in Italy. Think of that. He was in Pisa and in Florence for a day, saw friends of his and acquaintances of ours with whom he stayed four months on the last occasion, and who implicitly believe in him. An Englishwoman, who from infidel opinions was converted by his instrumentality to a belief in the life 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 to hear, and is even said to have returned certain _gifts_ which had been rendered unacceptable to him from the bad opinion of the givers. I hear, too, that his manners, as well as morals, are wonderfully improved. He is gone to Rome, and will return here to pay a visit to his friends in Florence after a time. The object of his coming was health. While he pa.s.sed through Tuscany, the _power_ seemed to be leaving him, but he has recovered it tenfold, says my informant, so I hope we shall hear of more wonders. Did you read the article in the "Westminster"? The subject _se prete au ridicule_, but ridicule is not disproof. The Empress Eugenie protects his little sister, and has her educated in Paris.
Surely I have made up for silence. Dearest friends, both of you, may G.o.d bless you!
Your affectionate BA.
Robert"s love and Peni"s.
In the summer of 1858 an expedition was made to France, in order to visit Mr. Browning"s father and sister; but no attempt was made to extend the journey into England. In fact, the circle of their flights from Florence was becoming smaller; and as 1856 saw Mrs. Browning"s last visit 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,--not longer than the usual expeditions into the mountains to escape the summer heat of Florence. In the beginning of July they reached Paris, where they stayed at the Hotel Hyacinthe, rue St. Honore, for about a fortnight, before going on to Havre in company with old Mr. Browning and Miss Browning. There they remained until September, when they returned to Paris for about a month, and thence, early in October, set out for Italy.
_To Miss E.F. Haworth_
Hotel Hyacinthe, St. Honore: Wednesday and Thursday, July 8, 1858 [postmark].
My dearest f.a.n.n.y,--The scene changes. No more cypresses, no more fireflies, no more dreaming repose on burning hot evenings. Push out the churches, push in the boulevards. Here I am, sitting alone at this moment, in an hotel near the Tuileries, where we have taken an apartment for a week, a pretty salon, with the complement of velvet sofas, and arm-chairs, and looking-gla.s.ses, and bedrooms to correspond, with clocks at distances of three yards, as if the time was in desperate danger of forgetting itself--which it is, of course. Paris looks more splendid than ever, and we were not too much out of breath with fatigue, on our arrival last night, to admit of various cries of admiration from all of us. It is a wonderfully beautiful city; and wonderfully cold considering the climate we came from. Think of our finding ourselves forced into winter 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 all of us--_Annunziata_, to "the lowest deep" of misery. At Ma.r.s.eilles we slept, and again at Lyons and Dijon, taking express trains the whole way, so that there was as little fatigue as possible; and what with the reviving change of air and these precautions, I felt less tired throughout the journey than I have sometimes felt at Florence after a long drive and much talking. We had scarcely any companions in the carriages, and were able to stretch to the full longitude of us--a comfort always; and I had "Madame Ancelot," and "Doit et Avoir," which dropped into my bag from Isa"s kind fingers on the last evening, and we gathered "Galignanis" and "Ill.u.s.trations" day by day. Travelling has really become a luxury. I feel the _repose_ of it chiefly. Yes, no possibility of unpleasant visitors! no fear of horrible letters! quite lifted 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 run alongside the wires.
Yes, but some visitors, some faces, and voices are missed. And altogether 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 bear it.
Paris! I have not been out of the house, except when I came into it. But to-day, Thursday, I mean to drive out a little with Robert. You know I have a _weakness_ for Paris, and a _pa.s.sion_ for Italy; which would operate thus, perhaps, that I could easily stay here when once here, if there was but a sun to stay with me. We are in admiration, all of us, at everything, from cutlets to costumes. On the latter point I shall give myself great airs over you barbarians presently--no offence to Zerlinda--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 from Ma.r.s.eilles.
May G.o.d bless you! If you knew how happy I think you for being in Italy--if you knew.
I shiver with the cold. I tie up three loves to send you from
Your truly affectionate BA.
_To Miss I. Blagden_