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Floren'ce- March 14 & 15. [1848]^ My ever beloved Arabel, whether I have, or not, a right to expect a letter from you, I scarcely know. Robert says not. But take notice, all o f you, that this is the third at least which I have written, since one has com e from you— with the exception o f dearest Henrietta’s little scrap o f a notelet through M" Kenyon . . . . so that, altogether, I am taking the liberty o f beginning to be uneasy. M y “presentiments” always turn out to be sentiments in the wrong place— otherwise I might say that I seem to feel something wrong somewhere. It is in my head; & I cant get it out o f

my head. I wrote to H enrietta then to Trippy— & now I write to you again. Is it fair, that you

dont write to me? Or have you written, & has the letter perished in the revolution at Paris,^ as I fancy som etim es? Tell me how W im pole Street is in politics— how dear Papa likes the great change. For m y part, republican as I am by profession, I was quite shaken by the sense o f the misfortunes o f the Orleans family, the grey discrowned King,^— and his sons & daughters turned back on the threshold o f so bright a life. Then, there were dreadful reports here .. o f the Due de Nemours being shot through the head!'* & Robert heard besides though he did not tell me, that the Due de Montpensier had been torn to pieces by the people, & that Louis Phillippe h im self had died o f apoplexy, in the emotion o f hearing o f it.^ I was quite shaken & could’nt help crying at every turn o f the day, it made m e so nervous. It made me laugh, after, when W ilson told me that kindest dearest Robert w ould’nt quit the house without leaving instructions to her, to beg o f any possible visitor who might have access to me in his absence, “not to say anything, about the French Revolution, to M" Browning.” I f a visitor had^ com e, there w^ have been a curious impression produced, I think, respecting M r B rowning’s susceptibility to politics. Oh, but it was so sudden, so unexpected!— and w hile the great edifice o f French nationality w as shuddering to its base, who could be c a lm ,.. & what safety, sure, in the falling & crushing o f the towers? N ow , that we can breathe & look around u s , .. & see no more lives lost than the crisis naturally involved, .. now, I take up m y republicanism, & am cordially glad that the experiment o f the m ost rational & sincere o f governments, a pure democracy, should be tried for Europe. Robert & I agree & thoroughly agree in politics as in other things; & w e talk & talk on this subject, very seldom differing on any angle o f it. That Louis Phillippe has not been true to the popular principle which

crowned him, is certain- I do consider, however, that he sinned rather up to the moment^ o f the

Reform banquet, than in that moment. To be just, as w e should all try to be, the calling out by a

private com m ittee, o fte n thousand national guards in the streets o f Paris, was undeniably illegal: and a “monster m eeting” in the heart o f a city, (& that city, excitable Paris!) was more rationally alarming than a monster-meeting on the plains o f Ireland, such as was put down without much scruple or blame, by our own government.* The event proved that the Banquet itself w^ have been better than what was found to replace it— but men cant reason from events backward, when they have to act forwards. The sin was in the general policy— in the refusal o f an enlarged franchise, & reforms generally— & the sin has paid its price. Oh, that poor, poor Louis Phillippe— that poor, noble Duchess o f Orleans, & her little son!^ What a drama! how passionate & m ovin g!-

And then, on the other side, the Provisional Government, with a poet for the soul o f it- Lamartine

has made us proud o f him! he w ill teach the world how poetical men can be practical men when

they please." And the first acts— the abolition o f death for political offences .. (Grand, that was!) & the abolition o f slavery .. which w ill startle Am erica into a little shame, I hope. A s to the

doing aw ay with titles .. it is another thing; & Robert & I agree that the thing is absurd altogether.

They should disassociate the titles from feudal & political priviledges o f every sort— so, most righteous!— but no man has any business with my own personal distinction, with m y name, or with the red ribband in my buttonhole .. it is a species o f property & ought to be sacred. On the whole, my love for the French has been charmed & flattered by this great change. Curious, it is. After one o f our talks, about tw o months ago, Robert said with an emphatic sigh .. “Ah Ba! I see there’s no hope for me! You wont let me o ff going to Paris to stay, I see. W ell— only wait till there’s a republic in France, & then w e ’ll go.” To which I answered pertly that I sh^^ wait for anything o f the kind— for that it was all stuff—his pretending not to like Paris, when he knew in his heart that he did like it, & when there was George Sand to see, & Balzac, & Victor Hugo,*^ & ever so many good for nothing men & wom en, besides pictures & statues & palaces— ! So, we talked— and, behold!, almost w hile w e talked, the tocsin sounded & the scene changed, & France was a republic!---

You w ill set me down as bewitched, Arabel, for sending you all these politics— you w f rather hear about Flush perhaps! Or as dear M! Kenyon wrote the other day .. “Tell me o f yourselves, & skip Regenerated Italy”. By the way, if he is as vexed as I am, about Ml Landor’s ungenerous letter, he is v e x e d . I cant get over it— though for your sake, Arabel, I w ill try .. & write o f something else. Robert’s second edition‘s*.. did I tell you o f that? Y es, I think so. It is our ch ief subject just now. I sewed, stitched, paper to paper for him y esterd a y ,.. to his astonishment & my own admiration. I f I could have a dear, pleasant letter from you, now, I should be very w ell indeed: even as it is, I am w ell . .(saving the sickness, which prevents [ . . . ] & though by no means [ . . . ] my appetite for breakfast & dinner.)^^ It seem s to me that, since the capacious days o f my childhood, I really never had a better appetite. I can manage a w hole mutton chop for dinner, for instance, & take pudding besides:— only you need’nt quite think that I “eat till I am sick”, (perhaps dear Minny may suggest that theory!) for it is in all sim plicity o f diet, understand, & in all studiousness o f the digestive dialectics. M[ Tulk sends us G alignani’s till w e are quite grateful to him.*^ He is the kindest, most benevolent man. Shame to us, it w^ be, i f w e did’nt, in

return, pay the right reverence to Swedenborg’s blue-tunic’d angels! And Arabel, you are to

interpret more gently, i f you please, what I said rashly about the sons in law. There is a great deal o f good I do not doubt in both o f them — & MI Ley is an excellent liberal & very affectionate in his home feelings. Sophia seem s to me out o f spirits— but it may be manner or want o f health. Her father w^ not look so happy if his daughter had reason for being otherwise. Dear dearest

Arabel, dont let me forget telling you what com es to my thoughts at wrong tim es— dont buy

Tennyson’s P rincess f o r me. N ow , I am in earnest, Arabel. When an opportunity shall occur o f

our being able to read it, M oxon w ill certainly send it to us— he could’nt do otherw ise— though he is a shabby man, & I am in the worst humour with him possible, just now. Shameful it was, to refuse the risk o f Robert’s second edition, after som e thirteen years publishing connection, &

having been paid throughout & step by step. Mere strangers like Chapman & Hall, do that for him, as strangers, which a friend refuses to do-'* Oh, I have quite been in a passion, .. a good rational passion, that is! You heard in my last letter that G eorge w as wrong in his w ay o f expounding my secret. You w ill know it in the course o f the summer— or sooner, perhaps. I shall ask for leave to tell you. At last I have written to M r Martin who deserved better o f me;'^ but

very lazy & disinclined have I been about writing .. there’s the truth- Oh— it is’nt a truth for you

in W impole Street, mind— always I behave w ell to you , I think. Enclose this little note to Storm—

& the other you w ill either send or take to M! Boyd. Arabel; write & tell me everything. Have you heard from Annie H a y e s ,.. & what? Undoubtedly if her father has it in his power to advance any part o f her claim, he ought to do it: and i f Jane sh4 be using her influence in any unrighteous

way, there is dreadful injustice done, which ought to be revolted a g a i n s t .N o w , would it be

im possible for yo u to touch on the subject to him? 7 would, in a moment, I assure you— & I dont

like to write, only because o f m y ignorance o f the circumstances. I must believe in M! B o yd ’s essential justice & integrity— I mean as far as his intentions g o — but he is perfectly capable o f acting unjustly without knowing it. Say, that he has only two hundred a year through the adversities o f Ireland— one hundred should go to his daughter, even so. Is’nt it plain & clear & just, Arabel? The circumstances are peculiar, & very hard.

H ow glad I shall be to have a letter from W im pole Street- I really am uneasy, though N elly Bordman, whom I heard from yesterday, talks o f your all being w ell when she last had news o f you:— but when might that have been? You might manage to write oftener, you dear, wicked people! Robert & I wish, one to another, that w e had been in Paris at the tim e o f crisis. Where we were before, in the hotel de la ville de Paris, was close to the great scen e— w e used to pass every day that beautiful church o f the Madelaine,^' to the restaurateur’s. Under any other circumstances it w*? have been great shame to stay so short a time in Paris & see scarcely anything, & certainly it must be corrected one day. Dear dearest Arabel, in all your words & in all my thoughts I sympathize with you more deeply than I can say. N ever think that in w eighing the feelings o f others I think lightly o f yours. May God help us all— where the prop is needed w e find His hand. Tell me o f our dear Trippy. In what way, is she “not as w ell as w e could w ish ”? I get uneasy in the thought o f her, with no better account than that. Is she less strong, or what? D o tell me. As to our plans, they remain & must remain in the highest degree uncertain— only that in seven weeks we assuredly must get out o f this house if w e dont mean to be roasted like larks, in a true Italian manner. Whether w e shall be able to leave Florence as soon, is another consideration— I do not know. Oh Arabel, you dont doubt that I long to see you & all o f you — but what i f I should not be able to travel— for one thing. You must see that it does not depend on us, not on our w ill & choice. It w ill be dreadful (using soft words) to stay in Florence in the noon o f the summer; and to get into shadow somewhere in the mountains, would be pleasant— but w e cant say a decisive word, either for England or the Baths o f Lucca, or Catigliana,^^ a mountain-place among the chesnut-forests, wild & lonely & with exquisite scenery .. only one must be sure o f not needing medical help before one goes there. Supposing that w e had to stay in Italy this w hole summer, it w^ be a place for change o f air & rest, when one had ceased to require anything else. I say all this as bare supposition, mind— & ever so many “ifs” are between it & u s.---

Ah, you dearest, kindest Henrietta & Arabel, both o f you, I have your letter at la s t.. Henrietta’s outside, written in such a gigantic hand, & Arabel’s inside, in the rational minute com prehensive way.2^ I grudge all the large bold writing— mind! But, first, thank you, thank you. I positively had had it in m y head that som ething was wrong with som ebody. Thank God, above all. You say nothing o f Trippy this time. I mean, o f her health. G ive m y dearest Trippy three kisses for me, & tell [her] I have thought o f her more than usual lately & not with as much pleasure. What you said, Arabel, was entangled in my thoughts o f her. H ere’s the spring when everybody ought to be w ell & strong, & I do hope when I go to England (whenever it may be) to find her as brisk &

bright as ever, dear thing. Pray in the meanwhile let none o f you be uneasy about the safety o f the

expatriated English. N othing can be more absurd than the panic which, I dont deny, is sweeping people to England. I f the Austrians were to com e, why what then? And do you imagine the Austrians more likely to com e, because the French revolution has secured help to the Italians?^'* Three times, no. A s to France, the English are perfectly safe there, let whatever happen- I f they were safe, in the height o f the Parisian fury, are they to be in danger now? Robert is quite chafed by the cowardice shown generally by English residents. Florence is as quiet as W im pole Street— & considerably quieter than Pall Mall according to Henrietta’s last r e p o r t.O u r noble Tuscans are charmed with their new epaulettes, & look rather that way, than to the edges o f their swords. Austria, on the other hand, proves by the dism issal o f Prince M et[t]em ich (that m ost significant act) that she contemplates no aggressive policy.^^ N ow , pray put out o f your heads that we are at the “post o f danger”: People cant be safer anywhere in the world, than precisely here.- M y dearest Arabel, .. if pictures could have souls in them, how mine w^ have kissed you again! M y soul kisses you now over the mountains! Do you fancy that I have forgotten how I ow e m y se lf to you in a Daguer[r]otype or otherwise? Ah indeed— I shamefully did cheat you — there’s the truth! but

you shall have a better resemblance o f me than t h a t.. you shall see. Probably your copy is a far

better painting than the wretched thing in question .. which Robert thinks like, in spite o f every fault. Did ever I tell you? It is hung in the drawing room at Hatcham, & visitors constantly take it

for a likeness o f Sarianna Browning— whereas a sketch o f her, sent to us since w e have been in

Italy, is nearly always supposed by visitors to us, to be my portrait.^"^ It is the hair, I think, which hangs in ringlets— but Robert insists on it that a rea l likeness exists between me & his sister, & that often he feels inclined to call me ‘Sarianna’. O f course his mother must m iss him .. & I say,

that, if she could hate anybody, she must hate me, for taking him away from her. I f he went out to

walk, he used to run all over the house to find her, & kiss her, first. With a peculiar tenderness, he has always loved his mother, & she him. D o you imagine that she can see him taken away & kept away, quite çquably? Yet she & they all apply the m ost affectionate words to me . . . though I dare say they do set it down as my f<ault>2* altogether .. which it is not. To settle in England,