Ah, dearest Fanny, I can't rest without telling you that I am sorry at

your receiving such an impression from my letter. May God save me from

such 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 not

dispute my belief in what you have so often confessed, that you don't

hold your attainments and opinions sufficiently 'irrespectively of

persons.' Believing which of you, I said, 'under what new influence?'

and if I said anything with too much vivacity, forgive me with that

sweetness of nature which is at least as characteristic of you as the

intellectual impressionability. Really I would not wound you for the

world--but I myself perhaps may have been over-excitable, irritable just

then, who knows? and, in fact, I _was_ considerably vexed at the moment

that, from anything said by me, you would infer what was so injurious

and unjust to a woman like Mrs. Stowe. I named her in this relation

because she struck me as a remarkable example of the compatibility of

freedom of thought with reverence of sentiment. You generally get one or

the other; the one excluding the other. I never considered her a deep

thinker, but singularly large and unshackled, considering the

associations of her life, she certainly is. When I hinted at her

stepping beyond Swedenborg in certain of her ideas, I referred to her

belief that the process called 'regeneration,' may _commence_ in certain

cases 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 you

apprehend Swedenborg's meaning very accurately always. If Swedenborg saw

sin and danger in certain communications, for instance, why did he

consider it privilege on his own part to live in the world of spirits as

he did. True, he spoke of 'danger,' but it was to those who, themselves

weak and unclean, did not hold 'by the Lord.' He distinctly said that in

the first unfallen churches there was incessant communion, and that the

'new church, as it grew, would approximate more and more to that earlier

condition. There is a distinct prospect given in Swedenborg of an

increasing aptitude in the bodies and souls of men towards communication

with the Disembodied. I consider that he foresaw not only what we are

seeing (if these manifestations be veritable) but greater and more

frequent phenomena of the same class,--which does not in any way exclude

considerable danger to some persons in the meanwhile. And do you think I

doubt _that_? No indeed. Unsettled minds, especially when under

affliction, will lose their balance at moments,--there is danger. It is

not the occasion for passion and fanaticism of sentiment, but for calm

and reasonable inquiry into facts. Let us establish the facts first, and

then '_try the spirits_' as the apostle directs; afterwards remains the

difficulty of assuring oneself of the personalities. I don't think you

should complain of the subject being unsatisfactory to you, because you

don't get 'a sublime communication,' or a characteristic evidence of

some spirit known to you. Much less would satisfy _me_. But it seemed to

me that the consideration of the subject disturbed you, made you

uncomfortable, and that you didn't approach any conclusion, and with

that impression and not because of 'contempt,' be sure, I advised you to

let it rest. Why should we beat our heads against an obstacle which we

can't walk through? Then your liability to influence is against you here

as much as your attraction towards such high speculations is in your

favour. 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 keep

them locked as long as said people stand by. The teachings of

Spiritualism are much like the teachings in the world. There are

excellent things taught, and iniquitous things taught. Only the sublime

communications are, as far as I know, decidedly absent. Swedenborg

directs you to give no more weight to what is said by a spirit-man than

by a man in the body, and there's room for the instruction. 'Heralds of

Progress' on one side, 'Heralds of Light' on the other, if a right thing

is said, 'judge ye.' If infidels are here, there are devout, yes, and

very orthodox Christians there.

I beg to say that when I speak of 'old cerements' being put off, I

pre-suppose a living body in resurrection. Also, I don't call

_marriage_, for instance, an old cerement. We must distinguish. With

regard to the common notion of a 'hell,' as you ask me, I don't believe

in it. I don't believe in any such thing as arbitrary reward or

punishment, but in consequences and logical results. That seems to me

God's way of working. The Scriptural phrases are simply symbolical, it

seems to me, and Swedenborg helps you past the symbol. Then as to the

Redemption and its mode--let us receive the thing simply. Dr. Adam

Clarke, whose piety was never doubted, used to say, 'Vicarious suffering

is vicarious nonsense.' Which does not hinder the fact that the

suffering of the Lord was necessary, in order that we should not suffer,

and that through His work and incarnation His worlds recovered the

possibility of good. It comes to the same thing. The manner in which

preachers analyse the Infinite, pass the Divine through a sieve, has

ceased to be endurable to thinking men. You speak of Luther. We all

speak of Luther. Did you ever _read_ any of his theological treatises.

He was a schoolman of the most scholastic sect; most offensive, most

absurd, presenting my idea of 'old cerements' to the uttermost. We are

entering on a Reformation far more interior than Luther's; and the

misfortune is, that if we don't enter we must drop under the lintel. Do

you hear of the storms in England about 'Essays and Reviews'? I have

seen the book simply by reviews in abstract and extract. I should agree

with the writers in certain things, but certainly not in all. I have no

sort of sympathy with what is called 'rationalism,' which is positivism

in a form. The vulgar idea of miracles being put into solution, leaves

you with the higher law and spiritual causation; which the rationalists

deny, and which you and I hold faithfully. But whatever one holds, free

discussion has become necessary. That it is full of danger; that, in

consequence of it, many minds will fall into infidelity, doubt, and

despair, is certain; but through this moral crisis men must pass, or the

end will be worse still. That's my belief, I have seen it coming for

years back.

'The hungry flock looks up and is not fed,' except with chopped hay of

the schools. Go into any church in England, or out of England, and you

hear men preaching 'in pattens,' walking gingerly, lest a speck of

natural moisture touch a stocking; seeking what's 'sound,' not what's

'true.' Now if only on theology they must not think, there will be soon

a close for theologians. Educated men disbelieve to a degree quite

unsuspected. That, I know of knowledge.

No! Swedenborg does not hold the existence of _devils_ in the ordinary

meaning. Spiritual temptation comes, he says, through disembodied

corrupt 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 do

hope. If you knew in what an agonised state of humiliation I am

sometimes, you would not suspect me of 'despising' you? Oh no, indeed.

But I am much in earnest, and can't 'prophesy smooth things,' at moments

of strong conviction. Who can?

Indeed, indeed, yes. I am very anxious about what passes in Paris. Do

you know that Keller's infamous discourse was _corrected by Guizot's own

hand_? Mr. Pentland (who was with the Prince of Wales) knows G. and

this. He (P.) has just come from Paris. He knows the 'sommités' there,

and considers that, though there is danger, yet on the whole the Emperor

dominates the situation. Prince N.'s speech, in its general outline, was

submitted to the E. and had his full sympathy, _Persigny said to_ P. or

in his presence. Let no one ever speak ill of Prince N. before me; I

read all the seventeen columns in the 'Moniteur,' and most magnificent

was the discourse. Rome is greatly excited, but hopeful. There may be

delay, however.

Surely you don't think the large head of Robert bad. Why, it is

exquisite.... I can't read over, and send this scratch that you may

pardon me before you go (not to lose the post).

Sarianna says that Squires carries about his own table. In which case, I

give 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 a

special address enclosed.

I have just heard from what seems excellent authority (_F.P._ Zanetti

has been here) that a French company is to be withdrawn from Rome

to-day, and that _all_ the troops will be immediately withdrawn from the

R.S., except Rome and Cività Vecchia. The French generals, however, were

not aware of this yesterday morning, though prepared for much, and thus

I can't help a certain scepticism. There is an impression in French

quarters, that the delay arises from a fear of a '_coup_' on the part of

Austria, if she didn't see France hereabouts. But Gorgon means to try to

get away before the crisis, which isn't in his tastes at all. De Noue

has 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 are

people I suppose who hold fast their opinions of the antique form, like

Mr. Massy Dawson, for instance, who called on me yesterday with

moustaches and a bride, but otherwise unchanged. He still maintains that

Napoleon will perish in defence of the Papacy, and that (from first to

last) he has been thwarted in Italy. 'I know that Sir John Bowring,

Diomed Pantaleone, Mrs. Browning' (bowing graciously to me in that

complimentary frame of body which befits disputants with female

creatures), 'and other persons better informed than I am, think

differently. And, in fact, if I looked only _at facts_ and at the

worldly circumstances of the case, I should agree with you all. But

reading the "Apocalypse" as I do, I find myself before a fixed

conclusion!' Imagine this, dearest Isa mine, his bride sitting in a

delicate dove-coloured silk on the sofa, as tame as any dove, and not

venturing to coo even. I suppose she thought it quite satisfactory. What

a woman with a brain could be made to suffer under certain casualties!

He quoted simply St. John and Mr. Kinglake! Mr. Kinglake plainly running

a 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 did

not 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 pick

Mr. Jones's pocket of his best foulard last Monday--no, though it hung

out 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 that

I was in a flutter of weakness, and didn't get over it quickly. Mrs.

Bruen brought Miss Sewell (Amy Herbert) and Lady Juliana Knox, whom

Annunziata takes in as a homoeopathic dose, 'È molto curioso questo

cognome, precisamente come la medicina--_nux_ (tale quale).' She (Lady

Juliana) had just been presented to the Pope, just before his illness,

and was much touched, when at the close of the reception of

indiscriminately Catholics and Protestants, he prayed a simple prayer in

French 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 human

flesh through the ecclesiastical robe, you get into sympathy with him at

once.

Miss Sewell will come and see me again, she promised, and then I shall

talk with her more. I couldn't get at her through the people yesterday.

She is very nice, gentle-looking, cheerful, respectable sort

of--single-womanish person (decidedly single) of the olden type; very

small, slim, quiet, with the nearest approach to a poky bonnet possible

in this sinful generation. I, in my confusion, did not glance at her

petticoats, but, judging _a priori_, I should predicate a natural

incompatibility with crinoline. But really I liked her, liked her. There

were gentleness, humility, and conscience--three great gifts. Of course

we can touch only on remote points; but I hope (for my own sake) we may

touch on these, and another day I mean to try. She said one thing which

I liked. Speaking of convents, she 'considered that women must

deteriorate by any separation from men.' Now that's not only true, but

it 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 of

introduction from Dall' Ongaro. I feel a real regard and liking for

Dall' Ongaro, and would welcome any friend of his. No--my Isa. I would

prefer 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 ran

cold at that thought. I know what poets of twenty must in all

probability be--Dall' Ongaro _is_ a poet, and has a remarkable command

of language.

I have tried my hand at turning into literal Italian prose (only marking

the lines) a lyric on Rome sent lately to America; and I may show it to

you 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 be

true, 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 the

other--that's true. And various devices we have had, miraculous rains of

revolutionary 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 (Gorgon

apart) has been always undeniable. You know there was to be a gigantic

demonstration to meet the declaration in the North. It was fixed to

spread itself over three days. The French politely begged the 'papalini'

to keep out of sight, and then they marched with the Roman demonstration

for two days--twenty thousand Romans gathered together, I hear from

those who were there, the greatest order observed--tricolors insinuated

into the costume of all the women. After a certain time, French officer

turns round and addresses the populace 'Gioventù Romana, basta cosí.

Adesso bisogna andare a casa, poichè mi farebbe grandissimo dispiacere

d' aprire ad alcuno la strada delle carceri.' The last words said

smiling--as words to the wise. 'Grazie, grazie, grazie' were replied on

all sides, and the people dispersed in the best humour possible.

Yesterday (San Giuseppe) we were to have had it repeated, but it rained

hard, which was fortunate, perhaps; and I hear something of cannons

being placed in evidence, and of Gorgon saying 'de haute voix' that he

couldn't allow it to go on. But everybody understands Gorgon. He has

certainly, up to a point, Papal sympathies, and is as tender as he dares

be to the Holy Father, and the irritation and wrath of the priestly

party is naturally great. On the other hand, the whole body of French

troops and their officers are as much vexed by Gorgon as Gorgon can vex

me, and there's fraternisation with the Romans to an extraordinary

degree.

Penini came home three days ago in a state of ecstasy. 'No--he never had

been so happy in all his life. Oh mama, I _am_ so happy!' What had

happened, I asked. Why, Pen, being on the Pincio, had fallen on the

French troops, had pushed through, and heard 'l'ordre du jour' read, had

made friends with 'ever so many captains,' had marched in the ranks

round the Pincio and into the _caserne_, had talked a great deal about

Chopin, Stephen Heller, &c., with musical officers, and most about

politics, and had been good-naturedly brought back to our door because

he was 'too little to come alone through the crowd.' What had they not

told him? Such things about Italy. 'They hoped,' said Pen, 'that _I

would not think_ they were like the Papalini. No indeed. They hoped I

knew the French were different quite; and that, though they protected

the 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._ I

was to _understand that, and remember it_.' The attention, and the

desire to conciliate Pen's good opinion, had perfectly turned the

child'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 were

too discreet for this.

Pantaleone is exiled--ordered to go in eight days, three of which are

passed. He is still in hopes of gaining more time, but the Pope is said

to be resolutely set against him. I am very sorry, not surprised. He

told Robert yesterday, that nothing can be surer than that Napoleon has

been throughout a true friend to Italy. Which is a good deal for a man

to admit who began with all the irritation against Napoleon of a Roman

of 1849. Even after the war, through Villafranca, the bad feeling

returned, and as he lives so much among the English, it was only natural

that he should receive certain influences. He is with Odo Russell (who

calls him Pant) nearly every day, and Mr. Cartwright is very intimate

with him besides. But P. is above all things Italian, and the Italian of

the 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, by

your criticisms on our photographs. After deep reflection I can't help

feeling sure (against Robert's impression) that he sent you--not the

right one, but one which has undeniably a certain 'grin.' I prevail with

him to let you have the _two-third likeness_ this time, in order to

decide the point. If you keep your opinion, why then all artistic Rome

is against you without exception. Nobody likes the sepia-coloured thing

of last year in comparison. Every album in Rome gives up its dead and

insists on the new likeness--not only is it considered more like, but so

infinitely superior in expression and poetical _convenance_, that it

_ought_ to be more like. So everybody thinks. With regard to the head, I

am of opinion that the head is beautiful, and the eyes singularly full

of expression for photographed eyes, but there may be more difference of

opinion about the head. The _two-third view_ you certainly can't have

seen. Why, we had even resolved (as we couldn't hope to grow younger) to

stand or fall with posterity by this production. 'Ecco!'

As to age--no! it's cruel of you to talk so. Robert's beard was

tolerably white when he was in Paris last, and, in fact, his moustache

is less so than the rest, therefore there can't be, and isn't in this

respect, so rapid a 'decline and fall' in his appearance. The clipping

of the side whiskers, which are very grey, is an advantage, and as to

the 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 dyes

for it'--an extremity to which Robert and I will never be driven--having

too much the fear of attentive friends and affectionate biographers

before our eyes--as suggested by poor Balzac's. But Robert is looking

remarkably well and young--in spite of all lunar lights in his hair.

Though my hair keeps darker with a certain sprinkle however, underneath

which forces its way outwards, I would willingly change on the whole

with him, if he were not my own Robert. He is not thin or worn, as I

am--no indeed--and the women adore him everywhere far too much for

decency. In my own opinion he is infinitely handsomer and more

attractive than when I saw him first, sixteen years ago--which does not

mean as much as you may suppose, that I myself am superannuated and

wholly anile, and incompetent therefore for judgment. No, indeed, I

believe people in general would think the same exactly. And as to the

modelling--well, I told you that I grudged a little the time from his

own particular art--and that is true. But it does not do to dishearten

him about his modelling. He has given a great deal of time to anatomy

with reference to the expression of form, and the clay is only the new

medium which takes the place of drawing. Also, Robert is peculiar in his

ways of work as a poet. I have struggled a little with him on this

point--for I don't think him right--that is to say, it wouldn't be right

for me--and I heard the other day that it wouldn't be right for

Tennyson. Tennyson is a regular worker, shuts himself up daily for so

many 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 an

inclination--works by fits and starts--he can't do otherwise he

says.[98] Then reading hurts him. As long as I have known him he has not

been able to read long at a time--he can do it now better than in the

beginning of time. The consequence of which is that he wants occupation

and that an active occupation is salvation to him with his irritable

nerves, saves him from ruminating bitter cud, and from the process which

I call beating his dear head against the wall till it is bruised, simply

because he sees a fly there, magnified by his own two eyes almost

indefinitely into some Saurian monster. He has an enormous superfluity

of vital energy, and if it isn't employed, it strikes its fangs into

him. He gets out of spirits as he was at Havre. Nobody understands

exactly 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 displeased

with me, he thinks aloud with me and can't stop himself. And I know

ultimately that whatever takes him out of a certain circle (where habits

of introvision and analysis of fly-legs are morbidly exercised), is life

and joy to him. I wanted his poems done this winter very much--and here

was a bright room with three windows consecrated to use. But he had a

room all last summer, and did nothing. Then, he worked himself out by

riding for three or four hours together--there has been little poetry

done since last winter, when he did much. He was not inclined to write

this winter. The modelling combines body-work and soul-work, and the

more tired he has been, and the more his back ached, poor fellow, the

more he has exulted and been happy--'_no, nothing ever made him so happy

before_'--also the better he has looked and the stouter grown. So I

couldn't be much in opposition against the sculpture--I couldn't, in

fact, at all. He has the material for a volume, and will work at it this

summer, he says. His power is much in advance of 'Strafford,' which is

his poorest work of all. Oh, the brain stratifies and matures

creatively, even in the pauses of the pen.

At the same time his treatment in England affects him naturally--and for

my part I set it down as an infamy of that public--no other word. He

says he has told you some things you had not heard, and which, I

acknowledge, I always try to prevent him from repeating to anyone. I

wonder if he has told you besides (no, I fancy not) that an English lady

of rank, _an acquaintance of ours_ (observe that!), asked, the other

day, the American Minister whether 'Robert was not an American.' The

Minister answered 'Is it possible that _you_ ask me _this_? Why, there

is not so poor a village in the United States where they would not tell

you that Robert Browning was an Englishman, and that they were very

sorry he was not an American.' Very pretty of the American Minister--was

it not?--and literally true besides.

I have been meditating, Sarianna, dear, whether we might not make our

summer out at Fontainebleau in the picturesque part of the forest. It

would be quiet, and not very dear. And we might dine together and take

hands as at Havre--for we will all insist on Robert's doing the

hospitality. I confess to shrinking a good deal about the noise of

Paris--we might try Paris later. What do you say? The sea is so very

far--it is such a journey--it looks so to me just now. And the south of

France is very hot--as hot as Italy--besides making you pay greatly 'for

your whistle.' Switzerland would increase both expenses and journey for

everybody. Fontainebleau is said to be delicious in the summer, and if

you don't mind losing your sea bathing, it might answer. Arabel wants me

to go to England, but as _I did not last year_ my heart and nerves

revolt from it now. Besides, we belong to the nonno and you this

summer. 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 been

far worse with some of mine. All the days of the three times of meeting

in fourteen years, can only be multiplied together into _three weeks_;

and this after a life of close union! Also, it was not _her_ fault--she

had not pecuniary means. I am bitter against myself for not having gone

to 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 year

before last, and my unsteadiness of health last year, which kept us from

our 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's

enemies, in Paris, against his friends, as in foreign countries against

himself? It's a league of lies against him and his. 'Intriguing

lacqueys.' That's a sweeping phrase for all persons of distinction in

France, except members of the Opposition. That men like De Morny and

Walewski may speculate unduly I don't doubt, but even the 'Times' says

now that these things have been probably exaggerated. I have heard great

good of both these men. As to Prince Napoleon, he has spoken like a man

and a prince. We are at his feet here in Italy. Tell our dear friend

Milsand that I read the seventeen columns of the speech in the

'Moniteur.' Robert said 'magnificent.' I had tears in my eyes. There may

have been fault in the P.'s private life--and may be still. Where is a

clean man? But for the rest, he has done and spoken worthily--and what

is better, we have reason to believe here that the Emperor sympathises

with 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 the

photograph with a heart running over. It is perfect. Never could a

likeness be more satisfactory. It is himself. Form, expression, the

whole man and soul, on which years cannot leave the least dint of a

tooth. The youthfulness is extraordinary. We are all crying out against

our 'black lines' (laying them all to the sun of course!) and even

pretty women of our acquaintance in Rome come out with some twenty years

additional on their heads, to their great dissatisfaction. But my dear

Mr. Martin is my dear Mr. Martin still, unblacked, unchanged, as when I

knew him in the sun long ago, when suns were content to make funny

places, instead of drawing pictures! How good of dearest Mrs. Martin (it

was she, I think!) to send this to me! I wish she (or he) had sent me

hers besides. (How grasping some of us are!)

Then she sent me a short time since a book for my Peni, which he seized

on with blazing eyes and an exclamation, 'Oh, what fun!' A work by his

great author, Mayne Reid, who outshines all other authors, unless it's

Robinson Crusoe, who, of course, wrote his own life. It was so very very

good of you. Robert had repeatedly tried in Rome to buy a new volume of

Mayne Reid for the child, and never could get one. Our drawback in Rome

relates to books. We subscribe to a French library (not good) and snatch

at accidental 'waifs,' and then the newspapers (which I intrigue about,

and get smuggled through the courteous hands of French generals) are

absorbing 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 spent

this winter in Devonshire or Worcestershire, or where. The thick gloom

of it is over now, yet I find myself full of regrets. It's so hard to

have to get out into the workday world, daylight, open air and all, and

there'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 of

Paris, and after just the first, we--even I--may be the happier. Don't

tell anyone that I feel so. I should like to go into a cave for the

year. Not that I haven't taken to work again, and to my old interests in

politics. One doesn't quite rot in one's selfishness, after all. In

fact, I think of myself as little as possible; it's the only way to bear

life, to throw oneself out of the personal.

And my Italy goes on well in spite of some Neapolitan troubles, which

are exaggerated, I can certify to you. Rome, according to my information

as well as my instincts, approaches the crisis we desire. In respect to

Venetia, we may (perhaps must) have a struggle for it, which might have

been unnecessary if England had frankly accepted co-action with France,

instead of doing a little liberalism and a great deal of suspicion on

her own account. As it is, there's an impression in Europe that

considerations about the East (to say nothing of the Ionian Islands)

will be stronger than Vattel, and forbid our throwing over our 'natural

ally' for the sake of our 'natural enemy.'

I am sure you must have been anxious lately on account of America. There

seems 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 the

Union, should not have spoken as he did. Not that it may not be as well

to let the Southern States secede. Perhaps better so. What I feared most

was that the North would compromise; and I fear still that they are not

heroically 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 somewhat

late in May, when we go to Florence for a week or two on our way to

Paris.

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 he

will like it. _He told Sir John so._

Is it right and loyal meanwhile of Guizot and his party to oppose the

Empire by upholding the enemies of Italy? I ask you. Such things I hear

from Paris! Guizot corrected Keller's speech with his own hand.

May God bless you! Pen's love and gratitude. If Robert were here he

would be named. Love me and think of me a little.

Your ever affectionate and grateful

BA.

* * * * *

_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, dearest

Sarianna, you yourself have not been well. The grippe seems to have been

bitter 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 have

paid for our mild winter by a considerable lingering of cold wind, from

snow on the mountains, they say. As for me, it's much to my disadvantage

in 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 good

wine for him? The vintages are said to have suffered (which grieves me

for poor dear Milsand) from the frost. We hear of travellers in

snowstorms through England, where the cold has been great, and that in

Paris, too, there has been snow. I do hope the opening summer will not

copy the last.

Dearest Sarianna, try to find out if Fontainebleau is damp, because I

was assured the other day that it was, besides being subject to intense

heats. 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 is

coming in the course of the summer. The objection is the journey, but if

the railroad is there, it would not prolong the journey (in relation to

Fontainebleau) more than two or three hours, if so much, would it? We

ought to inquire a little beforehand. We shall get to you as early as we

can. The weather is against us everywhere. We shall cut Florence quite

short. By the way, we have the satisfaction of seeing a precipitation of

the Tuscan funds down, down, which only makes Robert wish for more power

of 'buying in,' causing the eyes of a Florentine Frescobaldi to open in

wonder at so much audacity. But Robert, generally so timid in such

things, has caught a flush of my rashness, and is alarmed by neither

sinking funds nor rising loans. We have a strong faith in Italy--_Italia

fatta_--particularly since that grand child, Garibaldi, has turned good

again. The troubles in the Neapolitan States are exaggerated, are

perilous even so, and I dare say Milsand thinks we are all going to

pieces, but _we shall not_; there are great men here, and there will be

a great nation presently. An Australian Englishman, very acute, and free

from the political faults (as I see them) of England, did all he could

to prepare me for failure in Italy, 'to save my heart from breaking,' as

he said. And we have had drawbacks since then, yet my hope remains as

strong.

The Duchesse de Grammont (French Embassy) sent us a card for

Penini--'matinée d'enfants'--and he went, and was rather proud of being

received under a full-length portrait of Napoleon, who is as dear as

ever to him. It was a very splendid affair, quite royal. Pen wore a

crimson velvet blouse, and was presented to various small Italian

princes, Colonnas, Dorias, Piombinos, and had the honor of talking

ponies and lessons and playing leap-frog with them. The ambassador's own

boy, the little Grammont, has a pony 'tale quale' like Pen's, only

superannuated rather, which gives us the advantage....

I wonder if he will confide to you his tender admiration for the young

queen of Naples, whom, between you and me, he pursues, and receives in

return ever so many smiles from that sad lovely face. When charged with

a 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 carriage

three 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 makes

it a point of conscience to consider the whole 'razza' of Bourbons and

Papalini as 'questi infami _birboni_') to be so drawn, there must be a

charm. After all, poor little creature, she acted heroically from her

point of sight, and if the king had minded her, he would have made

liberal concessions _in time_ perhaps. The wretched queen-mother and

herself 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 own

account. Mazzini deserves what I should be sorry to inflict. He is a man

without conscience. And that's no reason why Jessie and her party should

use him for _theirs_. Mario is only the husband of his wife.

Robert has brought me home a most perfect copy of a small torso of

Venus--from the Greek--in the clay. It is wonderfully done, say the

learned. He says 'all his happiness lies in clay now'; _that_ was his

speech to me this morning. _Not_ a compliment, but said so sincerely and

fervently, that I could not but sympathise and wish him a life-load of

clay to riot in. It's the mixture of physical and intellectual effort

which makes the attraction, I imagine. Certainly he is very well and

very gay.

I am happy to see that the 'North British Quarterly' has an article on

him. That gives hope for England. Thackeray has turned me out of the

'Cornhill' for indecency, but did it so prettily and kindly that I, who

am forgiving, sent him another poem. He says that plain words permitted

on Sundays must not be spoken on Mondays in England, and also that his

'Magazine is for babes and sucklings.' (I thought it was for the

volunteers.)

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 that

passed between Thackeray and Mrs. Browning on the subject have been

given by Mrs. Richmond Ritchie in the 'Cornhill Magazine' for July 1896,

from which I am allowed to quote them. Mrs. Browning, in reply to a

request 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 not

absolutely _virginibus puerisque_. The editor, in this difficulty, wrote

the 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 tooth

which must come out (I don't say _Mrs._ Browning, for women are much

more courageous)--a tooth which must come out, and which he has kept for

months and months away from the dentist? I have had such a tooth a long

time, and have sate down in this chair, and never had the courage to

undergo the pull.

This tooth is an allegory (I mean _this_ one). It's your poem that you

sent me months ago, and who am I to refuse the poems of Elizabeth

Browning and set myself up as a judge over her? I can't tell you how

often I have been going to write and have failed. You see that our

Magazine is written not only for men and women but for boys, girls,

infants, sucklings almost; and one of the best wives, mothers, women in

the world writes some verses which I feel certain would be objected to

by many of our readers. Not that the writer is not pure, and the moral

most pure, chaste, and right, but there are things _my_ squeamish public

will not hear on Monday, though on Sundays they listen to them without

scruple. In your poem, you know, there is an account of unlawful

passion, 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 an

outcry, and so I have not published this poem.

To have to say no to my betters is one of the hardest duties I have, but

I'm sure we must not publish your verses, and I go down on my knees

before cutting my victim's head off, and say, 'Madam, you know how I

respect and regard you, Browning's wife and Penini's mother; and for

what I am going to do I most humbly ask your pardon.'

My girls send their very best regards and remembrances, and I am, dear

Mrs. 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!) as

extracted under chloroform, and no pain suffered by anybody.

To prove that I am not sulky, I send another contribution, which may

prove too much, perhaps--and, if you think so, dispose of the

supererogatory virtue by burning the manuscript, as I am sure I may rely

on your having done with the last.

I confess it, dear Mr. Thackeray, never was anyone turned out of a room

for indecent behaviour in a more gracious and conciliatory manner! Also,

I confess that from your 'Cornhill' standpoint (paterfamilias looking

on) you are probably right ten times over. From mine, however, I may not

be wrong, and I appeal to you as the deep man you are, whether it is not

the higher mood, which on Sunday bears with the 'plain word,' so

offensive on Monday, during the cheating across the counter? I am not a

'fast woman.' I don't like coarse subjects, or the coarse treatment of

any subject. But I am deeply convinced that the corruption of our

society requires not shut doors and windows, but light and air: and that

it 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 successfully

dealt with a certain class of evil? What if materfamilias, with her

quick sure instincts and honest innocent eyes, do more towards their

expulsion by simply looking at them and calling them by their names? See

what insolence you put me up to by your kind way of naming my

dignities--'Browning's wife and Penini's mother.'

And I, being vain (turn some people out of a room and you don't humble

them 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 in

Rome?

My husband bids me give you his kind regards, and I shall send Pen's

love 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 to

Mr. Thackeray, which I quote from the same article by Mrs. Ritchie. The

poem alluded to must, however, be 'The North and the South,'[101] Mrs.

Browning's last poem, written with reference to Hans Andersen's visit to

Rome; not 'A Musical Instrument,' as Mrs. Ritchie suggests, which had

been 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 hope

still more earnestly that you won't think I am putting my spite against

your chastening hand into a presumptuous and troublesome fluency.

But Hans Christian Andersen is here, charming us all, and not least the

children. So I wrote these verses--not for 'Cornhill' this month, of

course--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-first

of 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 shame

to write. His waiting did not _mean_ a slackness of kindness, but a

tightness of entanglement in other things; and then absolutely he has

got to the point of doing without reading. Nothing but clay does he care

for, 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 untouched

by Agnes.[102]...

I send you, dear, two more translations for Dall' Ongaro. You will have

given him my former message. I began that letter to him, and was

interrupted; and then, considering the shortness of our time here, would

not begin another. You will have explained, and will make him thoroughly

understand, that in sending him a verbal and literal translation I never

thought of exacting such a thing from _him_, but simply of letting him

have the advantage of seeing the _raw, naked poetry as it stands_. In

fact, my translation is scarcely Italian, I know very well. I mean it

for English rather. Conventional and idiomatical Italian forms have been

expressly avoided. I have used the Italian as a net to catch the English

in for the use of an Italian poet! Let him understand.

We shall be soon in our Florence now. I am rather stronger, but so weak

still that my eyes dazzle to think of it. Povera me!

Tell Dall' Ongaro that his friend M. Carl Grün had enough of me in one

visit. He never came again, though I prayed him to come. I have not been

equal to receiving in the evening, and perhaps he expected an

invitation. 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] Hatty

brought 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 mind

to spend the summer with you at Florence or elsewhere. The Storys talk

of Switzerland....

Andersen (the Dane) came to see me yesterday--kissed my hand, and seemed

in 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 a

swan.'

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 the

beloved image, and no power on earth can persuade him out of being so

ridiculous. I was base enough to say that it wouldn't please the Queen

of Spain! And he responded, he 'chose her to know that he _did_ love

Napoleon'!

Isa, I send these two last poems that Dall' Ongaro may be aware of my

sympathy'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 am

deeply 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 almost

too much at Rome to Robert, till he fancied I had set my selfwill on

tossing 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 physician

of mine, whom he met in the street) that it would be a great risk to

carry me north. He (Robert) always a little exaggerates the difficulties

of travelling, and there's no denying that I have less strength than is

usual 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 repose

is necessary for me, and that the lions in the path will be all asleep

by this time next year, that I yielded. Certainly he has a right to

command me away from giving him unnecessary anxieties. What does vex me

is that the dearest nonno should not see his Peni this year, and that

you, dear, should be disappointed, _on my account again_. That's hard on

us all. We came home into a cloud here. I can scarcely command voice or

hand to name _Cavour_.[104] That great soul, which meditated and made

Italy, has gone to the Diviner country. If tears or blood could have

saved him to us, he should have had mine. I feel yet as if I could

scarcely comprehend the greatness of the vacancy. A hundred Garibaldis

for such a man. There is a hope that certain solutions had been prepared

between him and the Emperor, and that events will slide into their

grooves. May God save Italy! Dear M. Milsand had pleased me so by his

appreciation, but there _are_ great difficulties. The French press, tell

him, has, on the whole, done great service, except that part of it under

the influence of the ultramontane and dynastic opposition parties. And

as 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 have

had hours of anxiety and even of despondency. English friends of ours,

very candid and liberal, have gone to Naples full of hope, and returned

hoping nothing--yet they are wrong, unless this bitter loss makes them

right--

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 had

been abandoned, but it does not appear that there was any cause to

apprehend that her life could now be reckoned only by days. Yet so it

was. For the past three years, it is evident, her strength had been

giving way. Attacks of physical illness weakened her, without being

followed by any adequate rally; but more than all, the continuous stress

and strain of mental anxiety wore her strength away. The war of 1859,

the liberation of Sicily and Naples, the intense irritation of feeling

in connection with English opinion of Louis Napoleon and his policy, the

continual ebb and flow of rumours concerning Venetia and the Papal

States, the illness and death of her sister Henrietta--all these sources

of anxiety told terribly on her sensitive, emotional mind, and thereby

on her enfeebled body. The fragility of her appearance had always struck

strangers. So far back as 1851, Bayard Taylor remarked that 'her frame

seemed 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 that

illness which had been present with her for years--was neither long nor

severe; but she had no more strength left to resist it. Shortly after

her return to Casa Guidi another bronchial attack developed itself, to

all appearance just like many others that she had had before; but this

time there was no recovery.

Of the last scene no other account need be asked or wished for than

that given by Mr. Browning himself in a letter to Miss Haworth, dated

July 20, 1861.[105]

My dear Friend,--I well know you feel, as you say, for her once and for

me now. Isa Blagden, perfect in all kindness to me, will have told you

something, perhaps, and one day I shall see you and be able to tell you

myself as much as I can. The main comfort is that she suffered very

little pain, none beside that ordinarily attending the simple attacks of

cold and cough she was subject to, had no presentiment of the result

whatever, and was consequently spared the misery of knowing she was

about 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 minutes

of the last. I think I foreboded evil at Rome, certainly from the

beginning of the week's illness, but when I reasoned about it, there was

no justifying fear. She said on the last evening 'It is merely the old

attack, not so severe a one as that of two years ago; there is no doubt

I shall soon recover,' and we talked over plans for the summer and next

year. I sent the servants away and her maid to bed, so little reason for

disquietude did there seem. Through the night she slept heavily and

brokenly--that was the bad sign; but then she would sit up, take her

medicine, say unrepeatable things to me, and sleep again. At four

o'clock there were symptoms that alarmed me; I called the maid and sent

for 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 my

heart will keep till I see her again and longer--the most perfect

expression of her love to me within my whole knowledge of her. Always

smilingly, happily, and with a face like a girl's, and in a few minutes

she died in my arms, her head on my cheek. These incidents so sustain me

that I tell them to her beloved ones as their right: there was no

lingering, nor acute pain, nor consciousness of separation, but God

took her to Himself as you would lift a sleeping child from a dark

uneasy bed into your arms and the light. Thank God! Annunziata thought,

by her earnest ways with me, happy and smiling as they were, that she

must have been aware of our parting's approach, but she was quite

conscious, had words at command, and yet did not even speak of Peni, who

was in the next room. The last word was, when I asked, 'How do you

feel?' 'Beautiful.'...

So ended on earth the most perfect example of wedded happiness in the

history of literature--perfect in the inner life and perfect in its

poetical expression. It was on June 29, 1861, that Mrs. Browning died.

She was buried at Florence, where her body rests in a sarcophagus

designed by her friend and her husband's friend, Frederic Leighton, the

future President of the Royal Academy. At a later date, when her husband

was laid to rest in Westminster Abbey, her remains might have been

transferred to England, to lie with his among the great company of

English poets in which they had earned their places. But it was thought

better, on the whole, to leave them undisturbed in the land and in the

city 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. The

Italians, as her husband said, seemed to have understood her by an

instinct; and upon the walls of Casa Guidi is a marble slab, placed

there by the municipality of Florence, and bearing an inscription from

the 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, seven

years later, closed his own great poem, praying that the 'ring,' to

which 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 propounded

by Napoleon to Cavour before the war, was only definitely demanded at

the 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 command

the 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, 'A

Musical Instrument' (_Poetical Works_, v. 10), was published in the

number for July 1860.

[86] His 'Framley Parsonage' was then appearing in the _Cornhill_.

[87] The championship trophy of the prize ring. The great fight between

Sayers and Heenan had just taken place (April 17, 1860), and had

engrossed the interest of all England, to say nothing of America.

[88] It is not clear what this can be. Browning published nothing

between 1855 ('Men and Women') and 1864 ('Dramatis Personæ'), and there

is 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 to

have been written now, when Home's performances were rampant. His next

really long poem was 'The Ring and the Book,' which certainly had not

yet 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 of

July, and on August 19 Garibaldi had landed in Calabria.

[91] Now in the National Portrait Gallery. A reproduction of it is given

as 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 the

first two months of the siege the French fleet prevented the Italians

from operating against it by sea, and it was ultimately through the

intervention of the English Government that Napoleon was persuaded to

withdraw his ships.

[94] Viterbo had declared for the Italian government, but had been

occupied by French troops on behalf of the Pope. Many of the inhabitants

left it, and a body of Italian volunteers entered the country in support

of them. It is presumably to this movement that the passage in the text

refers.

[95] _Poetical Works_, v. 3. The poem evidently refers to the loss of

her brother Edward, but might be supposed (being published at this

moment) to refer to the death of her sister Henrietta, shortly after

which 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. In

later life, especially, he was very regular in his hours of poetical

work.

[99] It is curious that these are the very words which (as a translation

from the Greek) Robert Browning used ten years later as the motto of his

study 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 of

her, and both busts were subsequently executed in marble on the

commission of Mr. George Barrett, who presented them to Mr. R. Barrett

Browning, 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

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