The Letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning Volume Ii Part 38

My dear Mr. Chorley,--Reading over what I have written I find that I have been so basely ungrateful as not to say the thing I would when I would thank you. Your _Dedication_ will be accepted with a true sense of kindness and honor together; I shall be proud and thankful. But perhaps you 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, but as distinct as could be expected reasonably.[68] Under conditions, of course.

On Friday morning before noon up to our door came Mr. Russell's carriage. He had closed with Robert's proposition at once, and we made room for him without much difficulty, and were very glad to see him. I didn't go in to dinner, and he and Robert went to the Storys in the evening--so that it wasn't too much for me--and then I really like him--he is refined and amiable, and acute and liberal (as an Englishman can be), full of 'traditions' or prejudices, to use the right word. To my surprise he _knew_ scarcely anything; and, as I modestly observed to Robert, 'didn't understand the Italian question half as well as I understand it.' Of course there was a quant.i.ty of gossip in the anti-Napoleon sense; how the Emperor told the King of the peace over the soup, twirling his moustache; and how the King swore like a trooper at the Emperor in consequence; and how the Emperor took it all very well--didn't mind at all and how, and how--things which are manifestly impossible and which Robert tells me I ought not to repeat, in order not to multiply such vain tales. There is Metternich the younger (amba.s.sador in Paris), a personal friend of Odo Russell's, in whose bosom Louis Napoleon seems to pour the confidences of his heart about that '_coquin de Cavour_ who led him into the Italian war,' &c., &c., but it simply proves to you and me how an Austrian can lie, which we could guess before.

My _facts_ are these: First, Ferdinando IV.[69] has an amba.s.sador in Rome, who has been received officially by the Pope (!!) ('The coolest thing that ever was'), and is paid out of the private purse of the Royal Highness. There is another amba.s.sador at Naples, and another at Vienna--on the same terms; so let no one talk of 'Decheance.'

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 acknowledge the Tuscan vote. Now he has strictly forbidden Piedmont to accept, and Piedmont must therefore refuse. The consequences of which will be that there must be another vote in Tuscany, by which Prince Napoleon will be elected; and we, having acknowledged the first vote, must acknowledge the second.'

Of course I protested; disbelieved in the forbidding, and believed in the accepting. He 'hoped it might be so'--in the civil way with which people put away preposterous opinions--and left us on Sat.u.r.day night at ten, just too late to hear of the 'fait accompli.'

Out of all _that_, I rescue my fact that _Napoleon made the English Government acknowledge the Tuscan vote_.

Don't let Kate put any of this into American papers, because Mr. Russell was our guest, observe, and spoke trustingly to us. He had just arrived from England, and went on to Rome without further delay.

The word _Venice_ makes my heart beat. Has Guiducci any grounds for hope about Venice? If Austria could be _bought_ off at any price! Something has evidently been promised at Villafranca on the subject of Venice; and evidently the late strengthening of the hands of Piedmont will render the Austrian occupation on any terms more and more difficult and precarious.

I should agree with you on Prince Napoleon, if it were not that I want the Emperor's disinterestedness to remain in its high place. We can't spare great men and great deeds out of the honour of the world. There are so few.

For the rest, the Prince would have been a popular and natural choice at one time, and as far as central Italy was concerned. Also he is very liberal in opinion, and full of ideas, I have been told.

But the fusion is a wiser step _now,_ and altogether--even if we could spare the Emperor's fame. Do you remember the obloquy he suffered for Neufchatel? and how it came out that, if he pressed his conditions, it was simply because he meant to fight for the independence of the State?

and how at last the Swiss delegates went to Paris to offer their grat.i.tude for the deliverance he had attained for the people? His loyalty will come out clean before the eyes of his enemies now as then.

We agree absolutely. And Robert does not dissent, I think. Facts begin to 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 could not 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, for a short time--only to pack up, I believe, and go further south--to 'meet the revolution,' tell the dearest Nonno, with my love. The case is that though I am really convalescent and look well (Robert has even let me take to Penini a little, which is conclusive), it is considered dangerous for me to run the risk of even a Florence winter. You see I have been _very_ ill. The physician thought there was pressure of the lungs on the _heart_, and, under those circ.u.mstances, that I _must_ avoid irritation of the lungs by any cold. Say nothing which can reach my sisters and frighten them; and after all I care very little about doctors, except that I do know myself how hard renewals of the late attack would go with me. But I mean to take care, and use G.o.d's opportunities of getting strong again. Also it seems to me that I have taken a leap within these ten days, and that the strength comes back in a fuller tide. After all, it is not a cruel punishment to us to have to go 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 constant wanderings having pa.s.sed away as much for me as for Robert. We begin to see that by no possible means can one spend as much money to so small an end. And then we don't work so well--don't live to as much use, either for ourselves or others. Isa Blagden bids us observe that we pretend to live 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's too true. It's the drawback of Italy. To live in one place here is impossible for us almost, just as to live out of Italy at all is impossible for us. It isn't caprice--that's all I mean to say--on our part.

Siena pleases us very much. The silence and repose have been heavenly things to me, and the country is very pretty, though no more than pretty--nothing marked or romantic, no mountains (did you fancy us on the mountains?) except so far off as to be like a cloud only, on clear days, and no water. Pretty, dimpled ground, covered with low vineyards; purple hills, not high, with the sunsets clothing them. But I like the place, and feel loth to return to Florence from this half-furnished villa and stone floors. The weather is still very hot, but no longer past bearing, and we are enjoying it, staying on from day to day. Robert proposed Palermo instead of Rome, but I shrink a little from the prospect of our being cut up into mincemeat by patriotic Sicilians, though the English fleet (which he reminds me of) might obtain for you and for England the most 'satisfactory compensation' of the pecuniary kind. At Rome I shall not be frightened, knowing my Italians. Then there will be more comfort, and, besides, no horrible sea-voyage. Some Americans have told us that the Mediterranean is twice as bad as the Atlantic. I always thought it _twice as bad as anything_, as people say elegantly. We shall not leave Florence till November. Robert must see W.

Landor (his adopted son, Sarianna) settled in his new apartment, with Wilson for a duenna. It's an excellent plan for him, and not a bad one for 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 to take of him, besides what is left of his rations. Forgive me if Robert has told you this already. Dear darling Robert amuses me by talking of his 'gentleness and sweetness.' A most courteous and refined gentleman he 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 many grains. Wilson will run certain risks, and I for one would rather not meet them. What do you say to das.h.i.+ng down a plate on the floor when you don't like what's on it? And the contadini at whose house he is lodging now have been already accused of opening desks. Still, upon that occasion (though there was talk of the probability of Landor's throat being 'cut in his sleep'), as on other occasions, Robert succeeded in soothing him, and the poor old lion is very quiet on the whole, roaring softly, to beguile the time, in Latin alcaics against his wife and Louis Napoleon. He laughs carnivorously when I tell him that one of these days 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 the spoiler, but mark! I will confess to you that, considering how we run to and fro, it never would have entered into the extravagance of my love to set up a pony for Penini. When I heard of it first, I opened my eyes wide, only no amount of discretion on my part could enable me to take part against both Pen and Robert in a matter which pleases Pen. I hope they won't combine to give me an Austrian daughter-in-law when Peni is sixteen. So I say 'Yes,' 'Yes,' 'Certainly,' and the pony is to be bought, and carried to Rome (fancy that!), and we are to hunt up some small Italian princes and princesses to ride with him at Rome (I object to Hatty Hosmer, who has been thrown thirty times[70]). In fact, Pen has been very coaxing about the pony. He has beset Robert in private and then, as privately, entreated me, 'if papa spoke to me about the pony, not to _discourage_ him.' So I discouraged n.o.body, but am rather triumphantly glad, upon the whole, that we have done such a very foolish, 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 on horseback, and presented to me. It is to be exhibited in the spring in London, but before then, either at Rome or Florence, we will have a photograph made from it to send you. By the way, Mr. Monroe failed us about 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 he was, and he rides, as he does everything, with a grace which is striking. He gallops like the wind, and with an absolute fearlessness--he who is timid about sleeping in a room by himself, poor darling. He has had a very happy time here (besides the pony) having made friends with all the contadini, who adore him, and helped them to keep the sheep, catch the stray cows, drive the oxen in the grape-carts, and to bring in the vintage generally, besides reading and expounding revolutionary poems to them at evening. The worst of it was, while it lasted, 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 very picturesque. I thought I should not like the moustache, but I do. He is in very good looks altogether, though, in spite of remonstrances, he has given up walking before breakfast, and doesn't walk at any time half enough. _I_ was in fault chiefly, because he both sate up at night with me and kept by me when I was generally ill in the mornings. So I oughtn't to grumble--but I do.... Love to dear M. Milsand. We are in increasing spirits on Italian affairs.

Your very affectionate BA.

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 for the advantages of our Siena residence. G.o.d has been kind. When I think how I went away and how I came back, it seems to me wonderful. For the latter fortnight the tide of life seemed fairly to set in again, and now I am quite well, if not as strong--which, of course, could not be in the time. My doctor opened his eyes to see me yesterday so right in looks and ways. But we spend the winter in Rome, because the great guns of the revolution (and even the small daggers) will be safer to encounter than any sort of tramontana. To tell you the truth, dearest friend, there have been moments when I have 'despaired of the republic'--that is, doubted much whether I should ever be quite well again; I mean as tolerably well as it is my normal state to be. So severe the attack was altogether.

As to political affairs, I will use the word of Penini's music-master when asked the other day how they went on--'_Divinamente_,' said he.

Things are certainly going _divinamente_. I observe that, while politicians by profession, by the way, have various opinions, and hope and fear according to their temperaments, _the people_ here are steadily sanguine, distrusting n.o.body if it isn't a Mazzinian or a codino, and looking to the end with a profound interest, of course, but not any inquietude. '_Divinamente_' things are going on.

There is an expectation, indeed, of fighting, but only with the Pope's troops (and we all know what a '_soldato del papa_' means), or with such mongrel defenders as can be got up by the convicts of Modena or Tuscany to give us an occasion of triumph presently. The expected outburst in Sicily and the Neapolitan States will simply extend the movement. That's _our_ way of thinking and hoping. May G.o.d defend the right!

Mr. Probyn, a Liberal M.P., has come out here to appreciate the situation, and said last night that, after visiting the north of Italy and speaking with the chiefs, he is full of hope. Not quite so is Cartwright, whom you know, and who came to us at Siena. But Mr.

Cartwright exceeds Dr. c.u.mming in the view of Napoleon, who isn't Antichrist to him, but is a.s.suredly 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 his family are gone to Rome, and find the whole city 'to be hired.' Family men in general are not likely to go there this winter, and we shall find the coast very clear. And _you_--dearest friend, you seem to have given up Italy altogether this winter. Unless you come to Rome, we shall not be the better for your crossing the Alps. The Eckleys have settled in Florence till next year. The Perkinses also. Isa Blagden is at her villa, which, if she lets, she may pay Miss Cushman a visit in Rome towards the spring, but scarcely earlier.

After the dreary track of physical discomfort was pa.s.sed, I enjoyed Siena much, and so did Robert, and the next time we have to spend a summer in Tuscany we shall certainly turn our faces that way. When able to drive, I drove about with Robert and enjoyed the lovely country; and once, on the last day, I ventured into the gallery and saw the divine Eve of Sodoma for the second time. But I never entered the cathedral--think of that! There were steps to be mounted. But I have the vision of it safe within me since nine years ago. The Storys, let me remember 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? You know, in any case, that she and her husband were arrested subsequently and sent into Switzerland. The other day I had two printed letters from the newspaper 'Evening Star,' enclosed to me by herself or her brother, I suppose--one the production of her husband, and one of Brofferio the advocate. I thought both were written in a detestable spirit, attempting to throw an odium on the governments of central Italy, which they should all three have rather died in their own poor personal reputations than have wished to hazard under present circ.u.mstances. Mazzini and his party have only to keep still, if _indeed_ they do _not_ desire to swamp the great Italian cause. Every movement made by them is a gain to Austria--a clear gain. Every word spoken by them, even if it applaud us, goes against the cause! Whoever has a conscience among them, let him consider this and be still....

_To Miss E.F. Haworth_

Casa Guidi: November 2 [1859].

My dearest f.a.n.n.y,--I this moment receive your letter, and hasten to answer it lest I should be too late for you in Paris. Dear f.a.n.n.y, you seem in a chronic transitional state; it's always _crisis_ with you. I can't _advise_; but I do rather _wonder_ that you don't go at once to England and see your friends till you can do your business.... You can get at pictures in England and at artistic society also if you please; and making a _slancio_ into Germany or to Paris would not be impossible to you occasionally.