The Letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning (Volume 2 of 2)

In Short

This collection of letters captures the final decade of a legendary literary life. Beginning in 1851, the correspondence tracks the author’s peripatetic existence between Florence, Paris, and London, documenting her transition from a secluded invalid to a fierce, politically engaged observer of the Italian struggle for independence. Through these pages, we witness her profound domestic happiness alongside her intellectual rigor, as she debates the social ills of the day, the nature of spiritualism, and the challenges of female authorship. These letters endure not merely as a historical record, but as an intimate portrait of a brilliant mind balancing the demands of public fame, private grief, and a relentless, optimistic curiosity about the future of human society.

The Story

The narrative begins with the author’s move from a quiet life in Italy to a broader, more ambitious European stage. Having settled in Florence at Casa Guidi, she and her husband, Robert, embark on a journey that takes them through the capitals of the continent. The central tension in this phase is the collision between her private, domestic sanctuary and the encroaching realities of geopolitical upheaval. As she observes the rise of Louis Napoleon in France, she finds herself drawn to the complexities of power, often defending figures who are widely criticized by her contemporaries. Her outlook remains fundamentally hopeful, grounded in a belief that history is moving toward a grand, moral resolution.

As the years progress, the rhythm of her life is defined by constant movement: winters in Paris, summers in the cool retreats of Bagni di Lucca, and periodic returns to England. The death of her mentor and friend, Mary Russell Mitford, marks a poignant transition, forcing the author to confront the passage of time and the loss of her own past. Yet, her focus remains aggressively outward. She becomes obsessed with the Italian Risorgimento, viewing the liberation of Italy as a spiritual and political imperative. She writes with passionate intensity about the war, the heroism of leaders like Garibaldi, and the hope that Italy’s rebirth will herald a more just European order.

The final years are marked by both increasing physical frailty and a sharpening of her intellectual voice. She engages in public discourse through her poetry and correspondence, often defending her right to address "coarse" or "unseemly" topics—such as the condition of women in urban centers—against critics who believe such subjects are beneath a lady’s pen. Even as her health declines, her letters remain energized by a deep, almost radical empathy. She acts as a surrogate parent to the volatile Walter Savage Landor and serves as a confidante to figures like John Ruskin.

The narrative arc reaches its conclusion in Rome and Florence, amid the shifting sands of Italian politics. She persists in her belief that the "new ideas" of the age, including spiritualism, represent a necessary evolution of human consciousness. Her final letters to figures like William Makepeace Thackeray reveal a woman who has fully embraced her role as a public intellectual, insisting that the "shut doors and windows" of societal convention must be thrown open to light and air. The story ends not with a sense of closure, but with a lingering impression of a life lived at the highest pitch of intensity, always looking forward to the next horizon of truth.

How It Unfolds

The departure from quietude The author leaves her Tuscan home to traverse Europe, initiating a period of intense travel and social engagement. She balances the logistical challenges of managing a household and a young child with the exhilarating intellectual stimulation of Paris and London.

Witnessing the coup Living in the heart of Paris, she observes the consolidation of power under Louis Napoleon with a mixture of pragmatic sympathy and idealism. Her letters during this time emphasize her growing interest in the political destiny of Europe and her belief in the necessity of strong, decisive leadership.

The loss of old anchors The death of dear friends like Mary Russell Mitford forces the author to reassess her connections to her native England. She navigates these personal losses while deepening her relationships with writers like John Ruskin and debating the merits of contemporary literature.

The cause of Italy Her focus narrows and intensifies upon the liberation of Italy, which she views as the moral pivot of the century. She writes with increasing fervor about the Crimean War and the Italian struggle, increasingly critical of the political status quo in Britain.

The final advocacy In her closing months, she defends her controversial poetic work against traditionalist critics and engages with figures like Thackeray on the role of the writer in addressing social injustice. Her spirit remains unbowed by illness, as she advocates for transparency in social and spiritual matters until the very end.

The People

Elizabeth Barrett Browning serves as the book's vital center—a woman of profound, often startlingly modern convictions. She is the anchor of her family, a fierce defender of the downtrodden, and a tireless seeker of "truth" in both art and the afterlife. Her husband, Robert, appears as her constant companion, a man who shares her literary passion but who also bears the weight of the daily trials they face together. Their relationship is characterized by mutual respect and a shared intellectual life that shields them from their occasional isolation.

Their son, Penini, is a constant, affectionate presence in the letters, serving as a touchstone for the author’s reflections on the future and the innocence of youth. Beyond her immediate family, the author maintains a web of complex friendships. Mary Russell Mitford is the ghost of the author’s earlier, more sheltered life, whose death necessitates a painful re-evaluation of the past. Conversely, John Ruskin represents the era's new, challenging intellectual vigor; their correspondence reveals the author as a mentor and equal, tempering his occasional despondency with her own unshakable, if sometimes "mystic," optimism. Then there is the "adopted" Walter Savage Landor—a test of her patience and character—whose volatility she manages with surprising grace. Throughout, the author’s correspondents, including William Makepeace Thackeray and Mrs. Martin, highlight her ability to be at once a private woman and a public force, a mother and a revolutionary.

In Its Own Voice

"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."

In a letter to W.M. Thackeray, the author defends her decision to address the harsh realities of urban life in her poetry.

"I consider that every step of the foot or stroke of the pen here has some real connection with and result in the hereafter."

In a New Year’s letter to John Ruskin, the author articulates her fundamental belief in the continuity between the physical and spiritual worlds.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book explores the moral responsibility of the artist to engage with the "great tragic movements" of history. The author argues that poetry cannot exist in a vacuum, separated from the struggle for national life or the suffering of the disenfranchised. She rejects the Victorian notion that certain subjects are "indecent" for a woman to discuss, positing instead that silence is a form of complicity. Underlying this is a persistent inquiry into the nature of reality; she views herself as a "realist" precisely because she believes the material world is inextricably linked to the spiritual. The book asks whether a life of the mind can—or should—remain protected from the chaos of the political sphere, ultimately concluding that true intellectual freedom requires a courageous, unflinching confrontation with the "blots" of society.

Why Read It Today

Reading these letters feels like sitting across from a mind that is constantly vibrating with interest. For those who enjoy the domestic details of the nineteenth century—the logistics of travel, the gossip about poets, the challenges of raising a child in foreign lands—the book offers a wealth of texture. However, it is the author’s voice that truly stays with you: she is neither a passive observer nor a detached narrator, but a participant in the history she describes. Her warmth is palpable, even when she is debating the most abstract or contentious topics.

The book is not without its difficulties. The prose is dense, occasionally burdened by the specific political disputes of the 1850s, and the author’s defense of Napoleon III may strike a modern reader as particularly jarring. Furthermore, her interest in spiritualism, which she discusses with the same earnestness as she does the fate of nations, requires a certain patience from those unfamiliar with the period’s fascination with "manifestations." Yet, these obstacles are precisely what make the book valuable. You are reading a human being in the fullness of her complexity—someone who is as capable of being "frightened" by political rumors as she is of writing lines that touch the soul. It is a rewarding, challenging, and deeply moving experience for anyone who wants to understand the life of a great poet not as a statue in a library, but as a living, breathing participant in the messy, wonderful, and often tragic business of being alive.