Having failed to find agreeable quarters at Etretat, where Browning in a “fine phrenzy” had hired a wholly unsuitable house with a potato-patch for view, and escaped from his bad bargain, a loser of some francs, at his wife’s entreaty, they settled for a short time at Havre—­“detestable place,” Mrs Browning calls it—­in a house close to the sea and surrounded by a garden.  On a bench by the shore Mrs Browning could sit and win back a little strength in the bright August air.  The stay at Havre, depressing to Browning’s spirits, was for some eight weeks.  In October they were again in Paris, where Mrs Browning’s sister, Arabel, was their companion.  The year was far advanced and a visit to England was not in contemplation.  Towards the middle of the month they were once more in motion, journeying by slow stages to Florence.  A day was spent at Chambery “for the sake of les Charmettes and Rousseau.”  When Casa Guidi was at length reached, it was only a halting-place on the way to Rome.  Winter had suddenly rushed in and buried all Italy in snow; but when they started for Rome in a carriage kindly lent by their American friends, the Eckleys, it was again like summer.  The adventures of the way were chiefly of a negative kind—­occasioned by precipices over which they were not thrown, and banditti who never came in sight; but in a quarrel between oxen-drivers, one of whom attacked the other with a knife, Browning with characteristic energy dashed between them to the terror of the rest of the party; his garments were the only serious sufferers from his zeal as mediator.

The apartment engaged at Rome was that of the earlier visit of 1853-54, in the Via Bocca di Leone, “rooms swimming all day in sunshine.”  On Christmas morning Mrs Browning was able to accompany her husband to St Peter’s to hear the silver trumpets.  But January froze the fountains, and the north wind blew with force.  Mrs Browning had just completed a careful revision of Aurora Leigh, and now she could rest, enjoy the sunshine streaming through their six windows, or give herself up to the excitement of Italian politics as seen through the newspapers in the opening of a most eventful year.  “Robert and I,” she wrote on the eve of the declaration of war between Austria and Victor Emmanuel, “have been of one mind lately on these things, which comforts me much.”  She had also the satisfaction of health enjoyed at least by proxy, for her husband had never been more full of vigour and the spirit of enjoyment.  In the freezing days of January he was out of his bed at six o’clock, and away for a brisk morning walk with Mr Eckley.  The loaf at breakfast diminished “by Gargantuan slices.”  Into the social life of Rome he threw himself with ardour.  For a fortnight immediately after Christmas he was out every night, sometimes with double and treble engagements.  “Dissipations,” says Mrs Browning, “decidedly agree with Robert, there’s no denying that, though he’s horribly hypocritical, and ’prefers an evening with me at home.’” He gathered various coloured fragments of life from the outer world and brought them home to brighten her hours of imprisonment.